


I Ain't No Calming Goat!

by X_Gon_Give_It



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha!Wade, Angst, Complete, Experimentation, Explicit Language, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Heavy topics, M/M, Pete's targeted by Weapon X, Peter doesn't submit for anyone, Peter is awkward, Peter's literally got no chill, Recovery, Slightly non-con, Torture, Wade gets to play doctor, Wades only a little better, Weapon X - Freeform, alpha/beta/omega, and kidnapped, asshole!Francis, forced heats/ruts, omega!Peter Parker, rated mature for future chapters, seriously, slow-burn, so is Wade, society is dumb, the man is a chaotic mess, they're doing their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-06-27 10:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19789162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Gon_Give_It/pseuds/X_Gon_Give_It
Summary: There's a man sitting in the corner of the room. Peter's vision is still mottled, but he can make out grey pants similar to the one he's wearing. His roomie is wearing a white shirt and it takes several blinks to realize it's a straitjacket.That's never a good sign.The man cocked his head to the side, hairless eyebrows quirking. When Peter inhales, the stench of pain is acrid in his nose. His eyes are hard and angry when they meet Peter's."And who are you supposed to be? They're actually giving me roommates again? Nice try, Francie!" he yelled this toward the door, "But I'm not buying it. Give 'im to someone else."<><><><><>Or the one where Peter is kidnapped by Weapon X and he shares a cell with Deadpool.





	1. I Can't Believe You've Done This

**Author's Note:**

> Forewarning right now, I didn't really stick with the normal A/B/O rules that I see so often in fics. Like, for instance, heats/ruts don't make omegas or alpha's go into a sex-crazed state. It brings them in and makes them interested, but they're 100% in control of their own actions. But society ignores that cause of the rape-culture they've adopted.
> 
> There will be more, of course, which you'll find if you continue.
> 
> Also, right here and now, don't expect Peter to be submitting to ANYBODY. Cause that boy ain't got time for that shit.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy some sassy omega Peter and a resigned, crazy alpha Wade.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man only cocked his head to the side, hairless eyebrows quirking. With his face closer to the light, Peter can make out more details, like the scars draping themselves over the man's body. Or were they burns? Maybe both. When Peter inhales, the stench of pain is acrid in his nose. His eyes are hard and angry when they meet Peter's.

This wasn't the worst situation he's ever found himself in.

It was still pretty bad all things considered, but they weren't shooting at him anymore and that felt like a solid step in the right direction.

The weight of the dozen or so guys pinning him to the floor was a bit uncomfortable though, he'd admit that. Especially when one of them bent his arms at a particularly painful angle, and after getting socked in the jaw earlier, his mouth was bitter with the tang of copper and bloody saliva had soaked into his mask. So while he's been in tighter pickles, he wasn't exactly having a good time either.

Still, all things considered, he was doing a decent job keeping himself calm.

A muddied boot stopped inches from his nose, giving off the stench of the bay and Peter wrinkled his nose.

"How pleasant," he grimaced and then winced as more pressure fell on his back.

The boot shifted as the body it belonged to crouched and a hand grabbed Peter's jaw to look him from side to side. Her finger-less gloves dug into the material, pinching it between her fingers, and Peter's head snapped back.

"Hey, no touchie the mask! I have no idea where those hands have been."

She dropped her hands between her crouched legs, "It's about time we got you." There was a bland lilt to her voice the reminded Peter of Harry whenever they studied together in high school. His tone would take on the same bored tenor as Peter tried to teach him the tricks behind chemistry.

But where Harry always had that crisp, polished rich look about himself, this woman was the exact opposite. She had a rough, thuggish look composed of a square jaw, a bundle of dark hair tied into a loose bun, and a scowl that would've made _Kraven_ turn-tail and run. Peter squinted up at her as best he could despite his face being smooshed into the concrete.

"Look, lady, I don't know who you lonely shmucks are, but knabbing people off the streets is very impolite where I'm from."

"Another joker," she sighed, standing back up. She brushed off her pants as if cleaning any superhero germs Peter might've left on her. "The boss is gonna love that," and without warning, she kicked him hard in the face.

Peter's head snapped to the side and the taste of copper flooded his mouth again. Any harder and she might've broken his jaw - if he wasn't as enhanced as he was, she very well might of. He groaned into the ground, loud and annoyed, before turning his glare up at her.

"Way to kick a guy while he's down. What happened to after-fight formalities? Didn't even give me the chance too...to uh..." he looked around, the words slowly dying in his throat. The woman had done suspiciously still.

So did the guys pinning him.

Peter stopped rolling his jaw. Had a struck a nerve? Were after-fight formalities an actual _thing_?

A tense moment passed and the woman crouched next to him again, bunching her fingers into the fabric of his suit and heaving him up to smell along the crook of his neck. Peter made a surprised noise and recoiled.

"Omega?" she said once she pulled away, sounding surprised, "You're an omega?"

The calm Peter had been tightly holding onto slipped between his fingers. He licked the blood from his lip, body coiling as something new manifested in her eyes. The guys holding him felt more like pieces of plywood than people now, their bodies rigid as Peter's scent hit their nose.

"Yeah. _Surprise_."

He could smell the alpha coming off every single goon in the warehouse, _especially_ from her. She reeked of a superiority complex. It was no surprise she was leading this little rag-tag team.

But if they could smell _him_ that meant the scent-blockers in his suit were broken. _Damn_.

Regret for turning down Tony's offer to install them in his suit made his tongue sour. Most superheroes (and even villains) had scent-blockers woven into their costumes. Given that most of the superhero community was enhanced, the smell of their second-gender was normally lot stronger than your average joe, and if your enemy was skilled enough they could pick you out in a crowd if they were what they were looking for. So scent blockers were a precaution they all favored.

Tony's scent-blockers were amazing. Like, slap-those-babies-on-and-you-couldn't-get-a-whiff-out-of-them-for-months kind of amazing. But Peter just _had_ to try out his own designs. He just _had_ to perfect his own inventions, rather than taking the easier route and letting a friend give him a hand.

Dammit, Tony wasn't going to let him hear the end of this.

The woman leaned down again, smelling along his neck as if to double-check, and shoved his face back against the cement.

"Well, maybe this will be easier than I thought," she chuckled, "I thought we were chasing an alpha vigilante. What a lovely change of events."

And just like that, any anxiety Peter had melted into a glop of irritation. There was that cocky alpha behavior he loved to hate. What was this, the Middle Ages? Did he miss the memo that it was still the 1800's and not the 21'st century? She was probably gonna try and use her "alpha voice" on him.

This was always so embarrassing to watch.

"Stand down, Omega," she growled near his ear, voice falling into something dark, low, and full of command.

Peter deadpanned.

"Oh wow, gee, not the _alpha_ voice. Please stop, how will I function like a human being _now_? You beast."

She balked and recoiled as if Peter had slapped her with her own moldy boot. "I said to _listen,_ Omega."

Peter was caught between a scowl and a cringe. He hated it when alpha's tried to get him to listen like that. Was it too hard to talk to him like a _normal person?_ He responded well to "Oh hey, could I have your attention for a sec," and "Could have a moment of your time, please?"

It was unbelievable that the stigma that alphas could _control_ omega's was sticking for as long as it has. They were supposed to be evolving as a species, not _devolving_.

"How about no," Peter retorted, shifting his arms. The grip of the goons had lightened, which was great. Why should they exert themselves 100% if he was just an omega, after all? "And please stop with the voice. I don't know if you can hear herself, but it's so bad. Like, _wow_ , I'm embarrassed for you right now."

The woman stood back up. Her pheromones were still stinging his nose with things like _listen_ , _obey_ , and _submit_. But all he could project was _stop_ , _this is painful to watch,_ and _uuuuuuuugh._

Something curious, surprised, and skeptical twisted her face. "It doesn't work on you?" She muttered it more to herself than him.

Peter arched an eyebrow, "It doesn't work on _anyone_. Did you honestly think it would? Just gonna growl at me and I'll roll over? Someone _obviously_ didn't take Secondary-Gender Studies in college."

Her scowl came back, as dark and rocky as ever. She looked him up and down one last time, hand on her chin.

"Bring him."

Grappling hands began pulling on him and Peter took a deep breath. Time to get back to work, break time is over.

"Nope," he wrenched his arms out of their grips with laughable ease, and whirling around, he kicked the first chump he saw, then punched the second, and threw the third.

If he'd have known his stake-out mission was going to turn on him like this, he would've stayed at home and gorged himself on the last of the ramen in his pantry. But, he'd been too eager after snagging a lead to these guys and he hadn't taken all the necessary precautions. Like an idiot.

He'd been tailing this woman and her merry band of thugs for _weeks_ now, only after connecting them to a dozen or so random kidnappings that have been plaguing the streets of his city. Most of the kidnapped were homeless, some had been criminals, and a small percent innocent civilians. Regardless, the homeless didn't deserve that kind of treatment - they had it rough as it was - and criminals should go to prison, not a place to be recruited and/or tortured. And innocent civilians? They just needed to go home. Nobody deserved to be snatched away from their life like that.

What he hadn't been expecting was them to turn around and start hunting _him_. Well, he was definitely relearning the _come-up-with-an-actual-strategy-that-isn't-pulled-out-of-your-ass_ lesson that he's been struggling to wrap his head around for years.

The goons shook themselves out of their surprised daze and rushed him, teeth-baring and projecting excessive amounts of aggressive pheromones that they thought would make him drop and surrender. The smell was making his nose burn.

"Yoink," he jeered, snatching the gun out of an alpha's hand and hitting two others with it when they tried grabbing him from behind. "Easy, easy. Single file. Let's not crowd Spidey now. There's more than enough of me to go around - hey, don't take that perverted! I saw that look."

Webbing two alpha's together, he swung them into the rest of the group and knocked them down like a bowling ball to pins.

" _Stee-rike_!" he shouted, pumping his fist. "All those bowling nights actually paid off, who'da thunk?"

His spider-sense proked insistently at his brain to stop fooling around and he turned in time to catch the punch aimed for his head. The woman bared her teeth at him again, annoyed that he was _actually_ putting up a fight, and grabbed his wrist with her other hand. She twisted it until he was forced to let go with a yelp, and then turned the tables on him by squeezing his wrist as if trying to pop it right off.

"Ow, ow, ow, _ow_ , _ow_ ," he yanked himself free. "Jeez," he shook his hand as if to fling the pain off, "Someone forgot to mention they had super strength."

"Back to the plan," she yelled to her team, keeping her eyes pinned on him as she bracketed her legs and arms as if to catch him.

Not going to happen. Lure him into a shady dock house and jump him once, shame on him. Keep him in shady dock house and try to jump him again, shame on them. How dumb did they think he was?

He hasn't exactly been Brainy McSmarty pants today, but he wasn't _that_ stupid. And to be fair, there were a lot more people here than he thought there would be, and his arms were still aching from the unexpected beating he got earlier.

But he could _totally_ handle this. Got it right in the bag. Easy-peasy.

The woman lunged with her arms out, a growl bubbling up her throat. Peter blocked the first two punches and added in a few swings of his own, but it was getting hard to focus with so many people coming up behind him and spooking his spider-sense. The woman was by far the biggest threat, but he didn't like the idea of having guns aimed at his back either.

"Ready," a voice said behind him and Peter had barely blocked the kick to his abdomen when his spider-sense buzzed sharply. The woman used the momentum of her kick to whirl around and land a solid hit to his chest that pushed the air out of his lungs and made him stagger. Without wasting a second, she lunged forward again and clocked him in the face, followed by another roundhouse kick, and he hit the floor.

"Now!" She yelled and something solid smacked Peter in the face.

"Hey, aim a little!" he snapped and looked down at the little canister teetering back and forth next to his arm. He only just recognized what it was before a spew of gas was released into his face. Sputtering and coughing, he staggered to his feet, fanning the gas away as quickly as possible. Somewhere through the milky fog, the woman's fist connected to his face.

"Again," She ordered, and another canister landed at his feet, expelling gas seconds later.

Peter backed up, white wisps like fog swirling around his legs and rising higher. Whatever this drug was it worked fast. He only took a few steps before his head began spinning, and he placed a hand against it, tottering like a sot with too much to drink. His other hand found the wall he'd been close to and braced himself against it.

More _clinks_ and _clacks_ littered the floor and the fog got thicker. Another wave of dizziness clocked Peter's head and he had to pat the wall a few times to make sure it was solid, before weakly beginning to climb. Everything was spinning and a rotten simmer of nausea was bubbling in the pit of his belly. He felt one punch away from throwing up.

He _hated_ sedatives, especially ones designed for his particular brand of healing factor and immune system.

He managed to get a few feet up the wall before a hand closed around his ankle and yanked him back down. His fingers shook and let him slid a foot down.

"Not so fast, omega," the woman laughed, voice muffled behind the gas-mask acquired from one of her goons. "You're not escaping that easy

He kicked her in the face.

Which both greatly amused him and made another round of sickness roll in his gut. He leaned his head against the wall, groaning, and lifted a shaky wrist to the rafters. He'd meant to trigger his webshooters and pull himself to safety, but his arm felt pumped full of iron and it dropped heavily by his side instead. Was it weird that his skin was feeling numb and tingly?

Two hands grabbed him around the waist and pried him from the wall. Peter felt like a stubborn cat clinging to a carpet, keeping his fingertips and toes planted firmly against the wall for as long as possible, until with a final rough tug, and an unsportsmanlike cuff to the head, he let go.

He collapsed against the floor and pushed his assailant hard enough to send them flying back. It must've been one of the goons, judging by the throaty "AHHHH" that came from their mask. Peter tried to get to his feet, but the world spun under him and he only made it to his knees.

"Come on, come on, come on, come on," he chanted, trying to shake the dizziness off. "Time to go, Spidey."

His spider-sense was a lazily probe this time and he more watched the oncoming fist than tried to dodge. When it connected, he was sure he blacked out for a solid minute because when he opened his eyes again, he was back to staring at the floor, but this time the woman was on top of him now, pinning his arms to his back.

"You're feisty," he could _hear_ the grin on her face, "and a bit of a bastard to take down. The boss is gonna love you," she pushed something sharp and pointy into the juncture of his neck and Peter's eyes widened in saucers. He flung himself out, and she laughed, hopping off and backing up a distance.

Peter forced himself to his feet this time, but wobbled, vaguely wondering if she'd injected jelly into his legs when he'd blacked out.

"What'd you..." he slurred but was unable to finish when his legs gave out from under him.

"Goodnight, omega," she said, her voice sounding far away. He felt numb to the way she nudged his head with the toe of her boot. "See you when you wake up."

Peter wanted to say something intelligent back, like "Nuh-uh," but he was already unconscious.

* * *

So, the situation was worse than he thought. That's on him. He took full credit for getting jumped, and he should've known better. He was sorry.

But as bad as everything was, the gurney he was strapped was comfy as far as gurneys went. There _was_ one wheel that squeaked as it rolled though, and it was like listening to a disharmonic duet starring Hawkeye and Black Cat. It roused him from unconsciousness with the same likeness of someone jabbing his ears with a sharp stick.

His mask was gone and that should've been enough to spark an imminent Spidey-Peter meltdown, but his head still hurt like hell and he could hardly muster a thought, much less a panic attack. He squinted through the slits of his eyes, wincing at the lights passing above him. They weren't very bright and kind of cheap-looking, but it was enough to feel like dozens of needle gouging into his retina's.

They rolled over a bump and he groaned, swallowing back the slime in his throat. He didn't want to die choking on his own vomit. There were better ways to go. Like passing away peacefully, surrounded by pizza' and science documentaries.

"Where'r you taking me?" He groaned to nobody in particular and was wholly surprised when the woman from earlier appeared into his line of sight. She didn't say anything, but her face was hard and stoic. She only seemed to be validating that he was awake and disappeared as quickly as she'd arrived. But he could still smell her. She reeked of _content_ , and _smug_ , and _victorious_.

In fact, this whole place reeked. The smells varied from excited, and curious, and amused, to scared, and hurt, and _help me_. He couldn't pinpoint where they came from. It was everywhere; consuming and overwhelming and enough to pull him farther out of his daze.

"This can't be good," he muttered as they turned and entered a room. It was a yucky looking room, with a whole lot of low-budget lights and props that looked like they belonged on the stage of a crappy, ill-thought-out movie set.

Peter craned his neck up to get a look at the man standing in the middle of the room. He had hands clasped behind in back in a secret-agent-turned-medical doctor sort of way.

But he wasn't an alpha. His scent was pure beta.

"Ah, here we are," he said, accent British and posh sounding. Peter would've liked it if the guy didn't have a face that screamed ' _conceited asshole_ ' "I've been wondering where you've been," he was looking down at Peter crossly as if it were his fault that his trip had taken so long.

"Yeah, sorry, got caught up talking to your lapdog here," Peter smiled fleetingly at the lady, "She's very nice, and she handled me oh-so-gently."

"Another talker," the man sighed. "Lovely."

The woman shrugged, chewing on a match with bored movement. "Couldn't get him to shut up, no matter how many times I hit him."

The man walked around the table to examine Peter from all sides, chin in his fingers and eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Nothing we can't fix," he said and tilted his head as he leaned down, sniffing at Peter's neck. "An omega, huh? I'm actually surprised. What's an omega like you doing in the streets of New York dressed like that?"

Peter shrugged, "Oh, you know, kicking ass, taking names, doing what I do."

"Right," he said, rolling his eyes. "Anything else you'd like to add, Angel?" he directed this to the woman.

Peter gaped, "Angel? _That's_ her name? Angel? And what's your name? Mr. Nice Guy?"

The guy stared at him blandly and Peter winced at himself, "Yeah, okay, that one was bad. Sorry, the quips will get better as soon as the drug wears off.:

The guy sighed, tugging on his mad-scientist gloves, "You remind me of someone. Guy couldn't stop talking too. Considered sewing his mouth shut at one point, but who has the time for that?"

"Look, I'm sure your uber-evil mad-scientist agenda is booked. So, just show me to the door and I'll happily get out of your hair."

"No, no, no," the guy wagged his finger at Peter, smiling in a way one would to a child who was being silly. "I've been watching you for a while Spider-Man. An impressive set of powers. Good stamina and high tolerance to pain. I'll admit you threw me off by being an omega, but guess that'll just make dealing with you easier in the long-run."

That again? Peter lifted his head just so he could look the guy in the face and glare.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He tussled Peter's hair, "Don't you worry about that," he looked at Angel and gestured for her to go. "That'll be all. I'll call if I need anything."

Angel shrugged, chewing on her match-stick in the most care-free manner as she left the room. "Give em' hell for me, Ajax," she said over her shoulder.

Peter gaped incredulously, mouthing falling into a wide grin, "Ajax? You're named after a cleaner? Ah man, your parents must've hated you. That, or they seriously admired Mr. Clean."

He must've broached a sensitive topic because Ajax was suddenly leering over him, face tight and unsmiling. He had look that rivaled Peter's landlord and that wasn't something to take lightly. Peter was 80% positive his landlord was a monster from a 1900's horror film. Like, he looked kind of funny, but so horribly animated at the same time it left you somewhat terrified.

"My name is Ajax. Drop it."

"Alright, alright, dropping it as fast as your mother dropped you on your head as a baby."

The resulting blow is hard and angry, but Peter's felt worse. Ajax clamps a hand in Peter's hair and brings his face close. "Piss me off, omega, and I'll make your life more of a shit-pile then it's about to be."

"Tough words," Peter whispers back, "My life's been a running shit-pile for the last few years."

His head is slammed back against the table and it makes Peter's vision swim. He was pretty sure he already had a small concussion from his fight with Ms. Woman-Who-Definitely-Doesn't-Act-Like-A-Holy-Entity, but now it felt worse. A part of Peter is telling him that he shouldn't piss off the guy who's probably going to enact terrible experiments on him, but the other part is still very offended about the " _if he be omega, he be easy to handle_ " bit and didn't want to give this ass-hat the luxury of an easy time.

Ajax backed up to observe Peter again. He looked irritated, lips pinched as if tasting something sour, but there was a guarded layer behind it. Peter glared back at him, daring him to try anything. If he even _tried_ to make Peter "submit," was Peter was going to bust some kneecaps.

He was sick of that word, especially when it came from losers named after bathroom cleaners. He's already heard it forced onto his secondary-gender all his life, he didn't need it while he was being tortured too.

A moment passed before Ajax relaxed and smiled. Which was pulling some major red-flags.

"Seems you don't really know your place, omega," he mused, chin in his fingers again. "I think I know how we can fix that. What any hot-tempered omega needs is a good, strong alpha to calm them down. Keep them satisfied."

" _Excuse me_?" Peter screeched, "I'll break any fucking alpha you have! Hot-tempered, my ass! I'm gonna beat the shit out of them and then you, and _then_ Angel!"

"Right," Ajax murmured, more to himself than Peter. "Definitely in need of a calming goat. For both of you, I'd say. I think I know just who to match you with too." His smile grew into something a little more sinister and Peter knew when an evil plot was being hatched.

He squirmed on the gurney, "Stop it! No! Whatever you're thinking, stop it now." Aunt May and MJ meddled in his love-life enough as it is, he didn't need some crazy scientist-type playing sadistic Cupid.

Ajax spun on his heels. He peered out of the door, called someone in, and came back to Peter's side with a gaggle of alpha's who wasted no time looking at Peter like he was a treat on a dessert table. His dislike for them intensified by 1000 immediately.

"Bind him and put him in Cell Block 10," Francis ordered, "Treat with caution. Omega or not, he's still a mutate."

"This pretty lil thing," one of the alpha cooed, stroking Peter's cheek. "C'mon, boss. This guy wouldn't hurt a fly."

Oh, unintentional pun. Peter might've appraised it under different circumstances.

He was debating on whether or not he should bite the guy's finger and risk rabies when Ajax shoved the guy harshly, "I want him to smell purely omega. You go rubbing your smell off on him I'll leave you in Cell Block 10. How does that sound?"

The guy's face drained of color as if Ajax had threatened him with bodily mutilation. "I hear ya, I hear ya," he said, taking on a green tinge, "Pure omega. Got it, Ajax."

"Before you take him though," Ajax stopped by the table with a bottle and a syringe. He inserted the needle into the top of the bottle and slurped up a decent portion of whatever was inside. "I think we'd better take precautions for now."

Peter tried to pull away as Ajax hovered the point over the crook of his arm. One of the goons grabbed him to keep him still as Ajax inserted the needle. Peter cringed from the ensuring sensation and squirmed until Ajax withdrew and the goon pulled away.

"Cheapskate," Peter bit, wishing he could rub at the aching spot. This is why he didn't like needles. He's had too many nutjobs stick em' in him to be comfortable. Getting his yearly shots was becoming a battle.

"Take him now," Ajax said, putting the syringe down and pulling off his gloves.

The goons started unbuckling the straps holding Peter down. As soon as he was free, he'd knock out the first one he saw and make a break for the exit. Didn't really know where the exit was, but he's improvised plenty of times. As soon as he was out, he'd memorize the location - wherever he was - and book it. He'd bring back the Avengers or SHIELD, and they could take this place down. Easy peasy.

Only, things were getting very...very...very...fuzzy.

Did Ajax put a sedative in him, or had he stuffed Peter's brain full of cotton when he wasn't looking. The straps pinning his arm fell away and Peter jolted up. Or he tried to. It felt more like sitting up, really slow and confused as if trying to figure out why everything was whirlpooling. He almost didn't notice when hands grabbed him and heaved him to his feet. He swayed and a rumble of laughter flitted around him when he had to lean against the gurney for stability.

He could smell amused alpha's.

His face burned, embarrassment mucking his blundering consciousness and he straightened himself out. His head felt pumped with helium and iron bolts felt screwed into his fingertips/ Seriously, what was this stuff?

His confusion must've shown on his face because Ajax laughed, "One helluva sedative, huh? Made it myself. Won't be kicking ass or taking names with this pumping through your system."

"Bastard," Peter tried to glare at him, but the room felt like it was spinning and _shit_ he felt like he was going to throw up. Even if he wanted to, he wasn't given the chance as he was seized again and led out the door.

He was easily pushed out of the room, and with one hand gripping his arm, he was steered down the hall. Peter stumbled as he went, trying to make sense of the bright lights and fuzzy walls passing him. Blotched and blurry figures swam in and out of his vision, making him blink rapidly to keep up.

"Told you this would be easy," one of the goons said. "Bet we could've handled him even without the sedative."

Another round of agreeing chuckles.

That rerouted Peter's brain. Yeah, this _was_ too easy. What the hell, Parker? What happened to breaking every alpha Francis threw at him? He put so much effort into challenging Ajax's stupid traditional views, he wasn't about to be alpha-handled into a cell with nary a fight or budge. Not with his pride at stake.

Peter felt his way up his shirt, using it to guide himself to the goon's hand, which was clamped over his bicep. Peter curled his fingers around the wrist, earning a surprised "Huh?" from the alpha it belonged to just before _squeezing_.

He put more strength behind it than he intended if the resulting _SNAP_! was any indicator, followed by a howl of pain. Peter used the surprise to lean back into the alpha, grab his forearm, bend over, and throw the jackass over his shoulder. It takes only a couple of seconds and would've been as simple as breathing if he didn't feel like throwing up after moving so quickly. It left him surprisingly winded and queasy, and he barely stopped himself from hurling on the floor.

Thankfully, the rest of the goons were just as surprised as their friend and didn't think to attack right away. Peter took a deep breath and grabbed for the next one. He snatched empty air first but managed to snag a jacket his second time around, and tossed her toward the one he just threw. He hears her smack into the wall and goes for the next.

Unfortunately, the rest had snapped out it by then.

"You little bitch!" one growled and pulled out his gun.

"Francis wants him alive," another chides her comrade and forces the gun back down. "Hurt him and you can take his place in Cell 10."

Peter wants to snidely say that he would've dodged it regardless but is too busy stumbling into the wall to get it out. Shaking himself, he pushed off the wall and right into an awaiting fist that snaps his head back. Groaning, he hit the wall again.

His spider-sense is a lazy drunk loitering in his skull, but he still manages to dodge the next hit and kick the offender away. He's not so lucky the second time. His punch is stopped and his arm bent behind his back. The position forces his face into the wall, only making his headache worse, before he's lifted and slammed into the ground.

That's when he threw up. There's not much to empty out his stomach, so he's left dry heaving for the most part. He's still choking as he's lifted by his neck and roughly led down the hall. There are more than one pair of hands on him now, each tightly clamped over his arms and back like steel braces.

Residue vomit lingers on his tongue and the back of his throat and almost throws up again. He feels it staining the front of the cheap grey shirt they dressed him in and he wants to be disgusted, but he felt too much like shit to care at this point.

They stop next to a door. When Peter looks up, he sees a clearly written Cell Block X above the metal frame and he's suddenly shaken with apprehension. They all talked about Cell Block 10 as if it had the devil itself inside. It was enough to intimidate the alpha's into behaving, which was a mighty big indicator that whatever was behind this door couldn't be good.

"Wait -" Peter slurred, digging his heels into the ground. "Don't-"

"Too late, omega," a goon hisses at him and rams her gun into his back, shooting him forward. He stumbled inside and whirled around, sticking his leg out to kick them, but all he hits is a locked door. It dents under his foot but doesn't budge.

Dammit.

His foot dropped and he stumbled onto the floor, breathing heavy. His head was pounding now. Less like a ball of cotton and more like a child banging drumsticks against his head. He groaned throatily and slumped the rest of the way onto the floor, putting his head to the cool cement.

It takes him a few long minutes, and a cough to his left, to realize he's not alone.

There's a man sitting in the corner of the room, half cast in shadows. Peter's vision is still mottled, but he can make out grey pants similar to the one he's wearing. His roomie is wearing a white shirt though, twisted and decorated with buttons and straps. It takes him several blinks to realize it's a straitjacket.

That's never a good sign.

Peter jumped back up, almost threw up, and fell back on legs, easing into a crouch. He's sweating and sporting the worst migraine, but he'd take this bastard down in a heartbeat if he needed to.

But the man only cocked his head to the side, hairless eyebrows quirking. With his face closer to the light, Peter can make out more details, like the scars draping themselves over the man's body. Or were they burns? Maybe both. When Peter inhales, the stench of pain is acrid in his nose. His eyes are hard and angry when they meet Peter's.

"And who are you supposed to be? They're actually giving me roommates again? Nice try, Francie!" the man yelled this toward the door, "But I'm not buying it. Give 'im to someone else."

Peter recoiled and then scowled. "S'cuse me," he snapped, but it's loose and watery on his tongue, "I'm not _given_ to anyone. Believe me, I don't want to be here just as much as you."

The guy shook his head, "Doubtful. I've been here for quite a while. You could say I'm in the senior class of the facility. It sucks ass, take it from your upperclassmen."

"All the more reason to hate it," Peter slowly slid back, finding his own little corner to nestle in. He pulled his legs close to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He gives the cell a once-over. "Wha - what is this place anyway? I didn't get the Freshmen Orientation."

"This," the man looked as though he was trying to spread his arms out, and gave him a painfully large smile that was too wild to be real, "Is Weapon X. The go-to-hell for those looking for a little more _oompf_ in their already shitty lives. A muties one-stop destination for death and mental instability. Whoooop-de-dooooo for us," He slumped back against the wall, thumping his head roughly against the hard surface.

Ooookay, his roommate was crazy. Probable right, but crazy, Good to know. Peter leaned his head against the wall, but didn't close his eyes. He grimaced, fighting off another bout of nausea.

"Francis's sedative?" The man says after of moment of watching Peter struggle, "Yeah, it's a little bitch, ain't it? Doesn't work on me for very long, but it puts you through a tizzy, huh." His eyes flitted to the mess down the front of Peter's shirt.

"Yeah, well, you're not making it any better, man," Peter grumped, rubbing his temples and trying dutifully to ignore the pungent smell and stomach acid on his clothes.

The man laughed at that. "Probably not. Don't worry, it runs its course fairly quickly."

"Says the guy who said it doesn't really affect him," Peter drawled, "Thanks, but in this case, I don't think our systems are quite on par."

The man shrugged, "Alright, got me there. A healing factor will do that."

He stays silent until Peter is good enough to unravel the pinch from his features and take a deep breath.

"Feeling better yet?"

"Think so," Peter grumbled, still massaging his forehead, "What the hell did he put in that?"

"Probably the tears of puppies and the cries of little children."

"Yeah, feels that way. Been a while since I've tasted puppy tears."

The man gasped, theatrically affronted, "Well, how often do drink it?"

Peter chuckled, not quite ready to be amused, but it eased the tension in his shoulders. "Alright, got me there."

The man shifted his position so he was sitting back against the wall. His eyes were hooked to Peter, like fishlines digging into his skin. It didn't take a strong nose to smell the clearly evident alpha coming off him. He could probably smell Peter too.

"So, why's ol' Francie putting omega's in my cell?"

Peter leveled a glare at him and quirked an eyebrow, all but shouting with his expression, _Why do you think?_ But out loud, he said, "Beats me. Said somethin' about a 'calming goat' but I don't know who's calming who in this scenario."

Wade rolled his eyes, and leaned his head up, looking at the ceiling, "Yeah, that sounds like him. What a douche."

"A true jackass."

After a long pause and a moment of serene peace, Peter grumbled sourly under his breathe. "Well, I ain't playing the calming goat, nor will I remain calm," he got to his feet. The effects of the sedative were getting better, so long as he didn't move too suddenly.

The man watched him approach the door but didn't make a move to join him. Rather, he looked on curiously as Peter ran his hand over the edge, searching for the hinges.

"It's automatic," he offered after a moment, "Slides up and down from the ceiling."

"Okay," Peter said without turning and knocked on the metal. It wasn't hollow and sounded pretty thick. He already dented, so it couldn't be impervious. But Ajax made it clear that he knew of Peter's strength and ability, even if he wanted to hide it behind the knowledge that Peter was an omega. He'd have to be careful. Especially if Ajax kept trying to sedate him like that again.

"It's thick metal too," the man continued, "I've punched through quite a few of them, but it looks like you've got a bit of super strength on you. But he's got camera's watching, so I wouldn't try anything just yet," he glanced at some hidden device in the corner and smiled widely all teeth and gums.

"Stop playing the calming goat," Peter snapped, "I'm not giving Ajax that satisfaction."

"In my defense, I was like this before you even came in. Also, stop calling him that. It feeds his ego like nothing else. If you really want to hurt him, call him Francis. He hates it."

Peter snorted, shooting a glance over his shoulder, "Francis? Really? Is that his _actual_ name?"

The guy laughed, "Yeah. Man, you should see his face when he hears it. Gets all red, like a really angry beet. It's hilarious."

"Heh, I'll remember that next time he starts threatening me with alpha's."

At that, the guy goes oddly silent. "Yeah," he says stiffly, "He does stuff like that sometimes."

They both let the implications hang over their heads. This guy was full alpha too, so Peter should've been at least a little hesitant. But the man was in a straitjacket and he hadn't made any moves toward Peter, so they were fine for the time being. The moment he tried anything though, Peter wasn't going to allow any second chances. He mentioned a healing factor, and depending on how strong it was, it could be hard to counter. Especially if this guy was persistent.

Peter figured that was part of Ajax - _Francis's_ \- plan. He didn't know how well the guy's healing factor was, but if Peter resisted and Wade kept coming back, the hopeful conclusion would be to wear Peter down until he couldn't fight anymore.

Well, Francis didn't know just how stubborn Parkers can be.

"Name's Wade, by the way," the guy piped up after a tense minute. "If that helps."

Peter didn't look up from the door, "Doesn't really, but thanks, I guess."

Wade snorted, "You're not easily impressed, are you?"

"I've seen a fair share of mad scientists and alphas. Takes a lot more than a sadistic plan and a good-tempered alpha to impress me."

"Good-tempered," a derisive laugh, "Nobodies called me that before."

"Well, you haven't given me a reason to think of you as anything else."

"I didn't want to freak you out. Besides, my face is usually enough to make people flip."

Peter turns, eyes flickering over the mans face again. Like his feet, and Peter assumes the rest of his body, it's covered with scars and disfigured skin-tissue. It was startling when Peter first saw it, yes, but he's seen plenty of gruesome things in his life. It was hard to look at, he'd admit, but he'd take it over Francis.

Instead of commenting on Wade's appearance, he went with instead, "Didn't you just hear me say I didn't want to be calm?"

Wade leaned back as if surprised Peter didn't take the bait. He dodged commenting on his own appearance too, and said, "So, are you saying you _want_ me to brutally and arrogantly come on to you?"

"No. Not exactly."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

And it strikes Peter how easily it says that. It's not very often he hears an alpha ask what an omega would like them to do. Especially so willingly and none erotic. Wade sounded genuinely curious about how Peter would like him to react in their circumstance. Not joking. Not teasing. But curious.

Peter turns to him, not quite sure what to say. "For now...just - just stay there." He waits Wade to challenge that, as so many others would. Instead of his alpha pride getting bruised, Wade shrugged and made himself comfortable in his corner.

"Aight. Cool."

Peter stared at him skeptically and slowly turned back to the door. There wasn't much more he could get from it. It's automatic, thick and sturdy, but not enough so that Peter couldn't break it down. He could do it now, but Francis was probably expecting that after Peter's fiasco outside.

It'd be risky to make a move right now, anyway. Peter didn't have a clue where he was and no idea what the layout of this place looked like. He was brought in blind. But as soon he got more information he could come up with an _actual_ plan.

And if things got too dicey too quickly, an escape was already on the table.

Satisfied with his evaluation, Peter returned to his corner. There was only one mattress on the floor, and Wade was sitting on it. It was thin and lumpy, and Wade made no room to offer it and Peter didn't ask. He didn't want it, nor did he want to share it.

Francis was playing a dangerous game here and Peter refused to be a pawn. So, he got as comfortable as he could on the floor and clasped his hands over his stomach, staring up at the ceiling.

Like the brilliant genius he was, he hadn't told anyone - not Dare Devil, not the Avengers, not even a passing comment to DeWolff, who was looking into the same string of kidnappings he was - about the mission he was on. No one knew where he was or even _who_ he was.

_Good job, Parker. Your intelligence holds no bounds._

"Well, goodnight roomie," Wade says, face-planting the mattress.

Peter doesn't respond, but he had a feeling Wade expected as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr (if you'd like): theulimatespidey-petey.tumblr.com


	2. Fight Me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: non-con sexual advances. Also, this fic has diverged into some pretty heavy topics, so, like, a mature audience is advised.

Peter woke up to Dolly Parton's "9 to 5" and a severe case of back pain.

He groaned and sat up, one hand firmly on his back and the other covering an ear to stem the overflowing volume of Wade screaming the lyrics from the top of his lungs, pitch be damned, as he did sit-ups on the floor. The sight was strange to behold, given that he was still in his straitjacket, but the broken bliss of the morning made him too irritated to care. Peter groaned again, louder this time, and rolled over, clamping both hands over his ears.

"Why must you?" He demanded.

"Mornin'," Wade interrupted his screeching to chirp cheerily. "I assume the suns' shining and the ugly vultures are out looking for a meal. Don't worry, this is pretty routine, you'll get used to it."

Peter grumbled and turned over to give Wade the stink eye. " _Kay,_ " he emphasized, "But _why,_ Wade _?_ WHY?"

"Number 1 rule to prison life - stay fit. It's when you get all weak and sickly that they start to up the experiments. Not that it really matters for me. Side's, it gives me something to do other than dwell in the unspeakable horrors of the past," He laughed mirthfully at that, more toward himself than Peter, and quickened his sit-ups.

Using the wall, Peter pulled himself to his feet and stretched his back, long and hard, grimacing at the tight knot coiled in his shoulders and spine. "That doesn't even make any sense," he grumbled, "Upping the experiments when they're sick, I mean. It'll just kill them faster."

"Eh, they can always get more test-subjects. Besides, I'd say Weapon X isn't known for its loving hospitality. I don't think Francis even knows the meaning to "health" and "safety." He's always been a grab em' and scrap em' kinda dude."

Peter rubbed along his lower back, arched his spine, and stretched his arms over his head. "Sounds like you've known him a while. How long have you been here?"

Wade shrugged and got up to switch his sit-ups to squats. He was surprisingly good at doing them without his hands there to balance the weight, "You could say that. They got me, I escaped, they pursued, they got me again. It's kind of a little game we play."

"Some game," Peter bent down and touched his toes, sighing when his back popped. That was the most uncomfortable slab of concrete he's ever had the displeasure to sleep on. Which was saying something, cause he's passed out on a number of sidewalks and he didn't remember them ever being that rough. He sat down and stretched his legs, nearly bending himself in half to touch the floor by his toes.

"Are you a gymnast or something?" Wade asked, cocking his head. "Or an acrobat? You're pretty stretchy."

"Sure," Peter said, switching legs.

"Sure? That's what people say when they do something _similar._ Only that something is usually shady as _fuck_."

"Alright, fine. I'm actually a secret agent working for an undisclosed agency. I was found in the circus as a young boy and my raw talent inspired them to recruit me and train me for dastardly missions that decide the fate of the world."

Wade snorted, "Alright, I dig the backstory. Could use some work. Should've said you were the side-kick to some aloof, shadowy vigilante who's secretly a billionaire with a dad complex. Now _that_ is something I'd go for."

Peter grimaced. That almost described his and Tony's relationship. Although, their relationship has always bordered more on mentor/mentee than father/son. But the dad-complex was spot on. "Agh, your right," he said, "Forgive me faulty story-telling."

"I'm a man of the people, Aaron."

Peter paused his lunge stretch and looked up, lips pursed and eyebrows quirked, "My name's not Aaron."

"Well, you never introduced yourself? So, I did it for you. You're now Aaron Applebottom, acrobat extraordinaire."

"Aaron was seriously the best you could do?"

"What's wrong with Uncle Aaron, he's a good guy?" Wade laughed at his own inside joke but conceded, "Alright, alright, how about..." he paused for thought, "Jaime? Ellis? Perez? Stan?"

"No, no, no, and maybe."

"Man you are picky."

Peter shrugged.

Wade paused his own leg stretches to think, "Then how about Jamel? Bennett? Marco?"

"Polo."

"Very funny."

"You're a man of the people, I'm a man of the comedians."

Wade looked like he was seriously about to challenge that when they're game of 'Pick a Name' was interrupted by the doors banging open and a coterie of alpha's filling the room. Their musky smell was like being next to a port-a-potty and Peter wrinkled his nose. Squaring his stance, he held his fists up, prepared to sock the first one that so much as looked at him funny.

Wade, on the other hand, whirled around with grace unbefitting of a man in a straitjacket. "AH! David! Earl! Carl! How are you chaps this fine morning?" To Peter, he said, "Don't worry, they're here for me. I always get a check-up around this time."

Sure enough, aside from an interested sniff in his direction - which Peter growled at - and a few passing glances, they ignored him in favor of grabbing Wade and roughly shoving him out the door.

"We'll see you later, Sherman!" Wade called over his shoulder before the door slammed shut and Peter was left alone.

He remained braced in his fixed spot for several more minutes before easing into a more relaxed stance. Well, as relaxed as one could be in the situation. He rubbed his hands anxiously on his pants and turned away from the door. The fact that Wade went to easily, and so cheerfully, probed at him with a likeness of getting poked with a fork. Had he really been here so long that he's just accepted his conditions? The way he acted, as though he was going in for a regular ol' checkup from a certified doctor, rather than potential torture. He literally called the guards "chaps."

It rubbed him the wrong way.

 _I'm not going to end up like that,_ he promised himself. _Francis and all of Weapon X can go fuck themselves._

Shaking his head, Peter paced the length of the room, wringing his hands together. He seriously needed to come up with a gameplan. Getting tortured until he found an escape opportunity didn't sound very appealing. But he could've been carted to a different country, for all he knew. He had to be smart about this.

His head ached though, haunted with the remnants of the concussion Angel gave him. His eyes caught the mattress shoved in the corner and perked up, making a beeline for it. As soon as he was close though, he could prominently smell Wade's scent _all_ over it. A rich, yet strange aroma that sat heavy in the nose. There was a bit more to it though. Something muskier and somewhat dirty.

The scent of an alpha post-rut.

It'd make sense that he'd have to work through his ruts on his own like this. He hadn't done anything to make Peter perceive him as a threat, but he obviously had a reputation if everyone gave him such a berth, even when leading him out of the cell. Like a bunch of trappers leading a strange beast out of a cage.

It was still gross though.

Wrinkling his nose, Peter turned the mattress over to the cleaner side and sniffed it there. The scent wasn't as strong now, more a shadow of what it was, so at least he might catch a couple of winks before Wade got back.

Collapsing on the mattress, Peter curled in on himself with his back to the wall and a clear view of the door. Just in case.

The mattress was hardly a step-up from the floor, but it was better than concrete at least.

He closed his eyes.

And was opening them sometime later, if his sleepy daze was anything to go by, as the door opened again. Peter blinked once, then jolted up on one arm with the other clenched into a fist, and watched as Wade was shoved back in the room. The door shut behind him just as quickly though and Peter 'humphed, falling back on the mattress, realizing there wasn't anything to worry about yet.

He felt, rather than heard, Wade hobble closer and jerked back up when the mattress was sharply kicked. "What. The. Fuck?!" Wade demanded and Peter squinted up at him. Dry blood mottled the fabric of his clothes in large, deep stains, and stained the skin of his face, but there were no other indications that he'd been hurt at all.

"You're here for 1 day and you're already taking over my bed? Get some class man!" Wade growled, kicking the mattress again.

Peter grumbled and lay back down, "Hey, I'm the freshman here, aren't? Isn't the upperclassman supposed to make the newbies feel welcome?"

"What middle school drama have you been watching? We all know the upperclassmen bully the freshmen into submission."

Peter glared up at him. "Nice," he snapped. "Submission. Brilliant choice of words. For that, you're not getting your mattress back for the rest of the day."

"Who died and made you my ex-girlfriend?"

Peter responded by curling back up on the mattress and closing his eyes. He didn't go back to sleep, too curious about what Wade would do? He _had_ kind of taken over Wade's space, which wasn't exactly fair - he'd admit. Then _again_ , he was gone and if they were sharing the cell, they may as well share the mattress too. Peter wasn't going to spend ALL his time on a hard floor.

Still, he was interested in how Wade would react. Would he force Peter off? Leave him be? Lay down with him? If it was the latter, Peter was gonna push him off.

He felt like a kid pushing the boundaries of a parent. Testing the waters to see how much they would take.

It was tense and quiet at his back and Peter held his breath.

Then, ever so softly, he heard a sigh and a scuffle as Wade retreated. Peter burrowed his head into the mattress. Okay, letting him keep it wasn't the one he was expecting.

He told himself not to look, but after a long minute, Peter glanced over his shoulder to see Wade huddled in a corner, head leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. He might've sensed Peter staring and opened an eye, asking a silent, ' _What do you want now?'_

Peter quickly looked away. Shit, now he felt bad. The guy _did_ just go through some type of torture, and he hadn't forced him off like Peter expected. Man, why did his cellmate have to be such a softie? Peter thought he was going to have to establish his own dominance to keep the guy off his back, but he was hell-bent on breaking all of Peter's expectations.

Craaaaaaap.

Seriously though, the idea of giving the mattress up to him made his tongue sour. He's been taught throughout childhood to give things up for alpha's. His career, his time, his love, his efforts. Just the thought of bending and giving him the mattress bashed angry heads with Peter's pride.

But Wade hadn't proved to be one of the alpha's Peter grew up with. Kind of the opposite, in fact. As strange as that was.

Kind alpha's existed, of course. But Peter was sour to think that they were few and far between. MJ was a nice alpha. So was Natasha, Bucky, and Clint. Same with the nice guy who owned the sandwich shop close to Peter's apartment.

He groaned, then sighed, then groaned again, decision made. "Alright," Peter grit and got up, "You can take the mattress again. But as soon as you leave, it's mine. We'll take turns or something cause I'm not sleeping on the floor the whole time."

Wade cracked an eye open, looking between Peter and the mattress, before grinning, "Awww, who knew that snappy gymnast was secretly a softie."

"Take it before I claim it as my own."

"Fine, fine," Wade got up and shuffled over to the mattress. He bent, as if prepared to belly-flop, but stopped at the last second, sniffing the air. His nose wrinkled, "Dammit it, now it just smells like you! You've ruined a perfectly good mattress!"

"Oh _fuck you_!" Peter snapped, "Just turn the damn thing over and you won't smell anything."

Wade stopped his feet childishly, but slid his foot under the mattress and kicked it up, trying to turn the thing over. Instead of the desired outcome, it flopped back against the floor. He tried again, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, but his efforts proved futile once more.

Peter watched him attempt it a few more times before throwing his hands up in the air. "Oh shove over, I'll do it."

"No, I've got it," Wade said, trying to do some fancy footwork to hike the corner of the mattress up his leg.

"Just let me do it, man. I turned it over in the first place.

"Seriously, I got it. Go sit down or something."

"No! Just move your ass, and _I'll_ do it."

"Back off!"

"Make me!"

"Damn you!"

"Damn you too!"

Despite Wade trying to kick him away, Peter grabbed the corner and threw the mattress over. After which, he grabbed Wade's shoulders and pushed him on top of it before sulking into the corner, knees to his chest. Wade sat there for a long moment, staring at Peter in surprise, before flopping back onto the mattress.

A few minutes passed before he whispered, "Thanks."

Peter didn't respond.

* * *

Peter was beginning to think Francis forgot about him. It's been a while since they took Wade, and no one had come for _him_ yet.

Which wasn't too bad, he supposed. For all of Franci's talk of being intrigued with Peter's powers, he didn't live up to it much.

Wade's company was better than Francis's, at least.

Unfortunately, he had the curse of optimism in bad situations. Not too long after hoping they might've forgotten about him, the door slid open again to rip those dreams apart. Instead of heading for Wade, the alpha's locked eyes on Peter with twitchy fingers and greedy eyes.

"Whoa, hey, back up!" Peter snapped, pushing one of them off as they hauled him to his feet. "I can stand on my own, thank you very fucking much!"

"You give us any trouble omega, and we'll be forced to get aggressive," one of them said, but it sounded more like a suggestion than a warning.

Peter's lips curled. He could smell the _want_ on all of them. It was a lusty odor that backed up his nose and promised a future headache. Why did they always smell like that? Could they not go one day without getting all creepy about being close to an omega.

"Give me any trouble and I'll be forced to kick your ass," Peter snapped back, jerking his arm out of one of the alpha's grips, "I said I can walk myself, dammit!"

She chuckled, as if the thought amused her, but gestured for comrades to let him go. "Okay, omega. Be good for us and you can walk yourself. Like a good little bitch."

Peter punched her and didn't regret it for a second. Not even when the rest of the guards swarmed him. As they tried wrestling him down, Wade whooped loudly from his corner. "Yeah, get em' roomie! Knock em' in the head!"

"Do you wanna help? Or are you just going to sit there?" Peter demanded, shooting him a glare as he tossed one of the alpha's to the side.

"Nah, I'm good. Looks like you've got it handled from here."

Something sharp pierced his arm and Peter froze, grimacing. "Nope. Not handled. _Not handled_." Damn Francis's sedative.

"You just couldn't be good," the alpha whispered in his ear, pinning his arms behind his back. "Just couldn't take the easy route."

"Easy isn't in my vocabulary," Peter said and shoved her away with his elbow. She tottered back with the force, even with the aided sedative carving a path through his system. "And back up, wouldja? Ever heard of personal space?"

"C'mon, let's just get him to Ajax," another one of the alpha's said. "He'll get what's coming to him."

As they led him out of the room, through Peter's swimming consciousness he heard Wade cheerily call, "Give em' hell for me, roomie!" then the door closed.

The journey from point A to point B was relatively quick, but then again Peter was finding it hard to pay attention. Eventually, he found himself in front of another door. Francis was there, looking as posh and jerk-ish as ever.

"Well, omega," he said, entering a code into the door, "I think it's about time you earned your keep and made yourself useful. Now go on in and do what you do best."

Peter didn't even have time to try and decipher that as the door opened and he was overcome with the thick smell of an alpha in rut. It was so pungent and strong, the sedative seemed like nothing but a dose of valium compared to it. "Hold on a damn second-" Peter started before he was shoved inside and the door locked behind him.

He slammed into it anyway, forming a dent where his shoulder hit. He hissed and clutched it when it did nothing. Every one of his senses were in overdrive now. He knew this smell enough to know what Francis meant.

" _Now go in and do what you do best_?"

"Fuck you!" Peter roared, kicking the door.

A noise from behind grabbed his attention and his spider-sense buzzed. Before he could even turn though, something body-slammed him into the ground. Hands were pulling at his clothes before he could react. Something was grinding down on top of him. Panting breaths blew on his face.

" _Ngh_ , it's been forever," the alpha occupying this cell moaned in Peter's face. "So good, ahh. Goo - good omega," a pair of lips slopped against his own and Peter growled, a dark, menacing growl that made the alpha pause, if just for a second.

"Get. OFF!" Peter kicked him off and the guy hit the opposite wall with a loud, surprised grunt.

The alpha was naked. Stripped bare and almost dripping with sweat. Heats and ruts did that kind of thing to you. It was the result of your body storing up pheromones for months before filling itself to the max and releasing them to make room for more. The smell was designed to draw in potential mates and fire up the reproductive organs as a way to ensure the survival of their species.

It was the 21st century now, so it's not like they the human species was in danger of going extinct or anything, but biology was biology.

It made you crave sex, but that didn't mean you had no self-restraint. Which is something Peter wished someone would've told this guy. In fact, it's something he wished people would know in general. Social media outlets had long since romanticized the idea of heats/ruts into bouts of love and passion that neither participant had any control over. That just being in that state made them unable to help themselves to the person they "love."

But when you stripped it all to its bare essentials, it was the equivalent of being raped.

Forcing an alpha or an omega to have non-consensual sex with you during a heat/rut was similar to being forced into sex while drunk. It was manipulating them based on their mental and bodily state for your own pleasure. Society had believed for a while that it was okay for an alpha to share an omega's heat. That they were doing them a "favor" regardless of whether or not the omega wanted it.

And vice-versa for an omega. It was instilled into their heads that the best way to go through a heat was _with_ an alpha. And if an alpha was in a rut, it was your duty to pay it back by helping them. But that just resulted in a lot of unplanned births and sexual assault. And whenever the omega reported it, they were turned into the perpetrators or brushed aside for being too dramatic.

There were even times when the alpha didn't want to help in a heat, or receive an omega in a rut, and they were forced with one anyway. Whenever they complained about it too, they went unheard.

And Peter hated it. He hated the blind-eye society put on these issues and the way they continued to push these ideas on children and teens. He despised the role they had grafted for him without his permission, and how they expected him to fit into it whether he wanted it or not.

The alpha in front of him bared his teeth, sending out a wave of pheromones that told him to _submit, stop struggling, just take it._

Peter's pheromones were just as abrasive, full of _back the fuck up, I'm gonna beat the shit out of you,_ and _just try it bastard._

Which seemed to surprise the alpha.

"Stop," he growled, using that fucking awful alpha voice that grated on Peter's nerves. " _Listen_ to me _,_ omega."

"No," Peter said, stalking forward, fist clenched, " _You_ listen!" He grabbed the alpha by the neck and slammed him into the wall, eyes ablaze and teeth bared. "You _ever_ touch me again and I'll break your hands. If you try anything, I'll beat your ass. And I swear if you ever use that stupid voice again, I'm using your body as a battering ram to break the door down. You got it?"

The guy stared at him wide-eyed, surprised, and wholly terrified.

"Got it?" Peter snarled.

He nodded frantically, squeaking out a small, "Yes," and Peter shoved him down on the mattress. He kept his eyes on the guy as he sulked into the farthest corner with his body scrunched together tightly. Any time the alpha even looked in his direction, Peter glared at him. A few times he looked like he was going to try and force himself onto Peter again, and after he seemed to gather the courage, Peter slammed his fist into the wall, denting it heavily, and he decided better of it.

Eventually, he stopped trying to persuade Peter over with his pheromones and started handling his rut himself. Peter ignored the noises he made as he pleasured himself, and dug his fingers into his knees when the alpha starting panting out "Omega," with his eyes screwed up. He was probably fantasizing about doing things to Peter and it made him want to hurl.

But he kept himself in his corner, heart beating rapidly in his chest and arms trembling. Adrenaline coursed through his body but all he could do was sit in the corner, shaking so hard it was a wonder the walls weren't moving.

After a while, they must've come to the conclusion that Peter wasn't going to "make himself useful" and the door opened. The alpha from early stepped back in and Peter growled at him briskly when they tried to touch him. He's had enough alpha hands on him for one day.

Whatever they saw in his eyes was enough for them to keep their distance as they coerced him back outside. Francis was waiting out there. He looked Peter over and tsked, shaking his head, "Disappointing," he mumbled and Peter would've tackled him if he wasn't being shoved down the opposite hall.

Vaguely, he thought he could make a move to escape now, but he felt displaced. Like his soul had been picked up and moved to the side, off-kilter and out of balance. His brain was going a mile a minute but nothing was comprehensive. There were a few times in his life when he'd been threatened by an alpha like that, and each time never failed to make him feel the same way.

Disgusted. Angry. And Vulnerable.

Out of all three, vulnerability was the one he hated the most.

He's felt vulnerable for most of his life. It was only after the spider-bite did he feel like he could have some of that safety back. It was another reason why he worked so hard to be Spider-Man all the time. There were omega's out there everywhere being hurt or abused. Alpha's too. If no one else was going to listen to their cries for help, then Peter would.

He was just waiting for someone to listen to his.

Before he knew it he was back in Cell Block 10. He stood in place as the door shut behind him, staring at the floor, breathing heavily. His fists were clenched so tightly, he felt he might break his own knuckles.

Wade sat up on the mattress, eyebrows pinched, "Roomie?" He said. "Are you o-" he didn't finish. _Are you okay_? Of course he wasn't. What kind of question was that?

Peter reeked with the smell of a rutting alpha. If he could smell it on himself, Wade probably could too. Peter glared at the floor harder, anger filling him up. His brain was freaking out, his body still shaking.

_Why can't I just fucking calm down?_

He took a deep, rattling breath and ran a hand through his hair.

"Do you want the mattress?" Wade asked.

"No, I don't want the fucking mattress."

"Okay," he said it softly, understanding. But Wade didn't go back to how he was before. He moved away from Peter, as far as their room would allow and turned with his head facing the wall. It took Peter a moment to realize he was giving Peter his space. Wouldn't look at him so Peter didn't feel like he was being watched. His back turned to Peter so he didn't have to worry about someone sneaking up on him.

The gesture seemed small, but Peter felt a balloon of gratitude swells somewhere alongside his adrenaline-fueled rage, as well as a sliver of guilt for snapping at him. He slowly backed up, back hitting the wall, and slid down, head on his knees. "Thanks," Peter whispered.

Wade didn't respond, which Peter was perfectly okay with.

He wished he could take a shower to get the smell off him, but he doubted Francis would give him the privilege.

Hell, Francis acted as though feeding him to an alpha like that _was_ a privilege. Like he, as an omega, should be grateful for the opportunity to help a rutting alpha. To submit to that low-life of a human-like he was "meant to."

_Do what you do best._

Yeah fucking right.

Cause that's just how it was, huh. He _got_ to live in this society of dominance and submission. He was born and raised to crawl under the "protection" of a high-horsed alpha who promised safety under a veiled illusion of sentiment and honor. When all it really was was a thirst for control.

Because of course, what kind of alpha were they if they didn't have a pretty little omega under their arm? What kind of alpha were they if that omega spoke of their own intentions and actions? If they were an alpha, it was their _job_ to keep their omegas under control. To put their heel to the omega's head and push them into the dirt, because that was where they belonged, at the feet of an alpha.

And if the omega refused. If they pushed back and tried to stand, suddenly they were defective. They were worthless. How could such a selfish creature reject its "protector" and the shelter they provided? All they alpha's asked of an omega was to be their little prize. To sit on their lap, at their knees, to cuddle and flatter, and stroke their ego. All the alpha's wanted was to command, order, and demand of their little omega, to have every order listened and obeyed with a smile and eagerness to please.

That's what it was all about right? The codes of their existence burned into the structure of their biology. The alpha's with their instincts to protect and reproduce, and the omega's with their inborn desire to be protected and give back off-spring.

Well, fuck all that shit.

An omega wasn't created to appease the biology of an alpha. These white-washed, two-dimensional values constructed by their society only proved to brainwash both sides into an unhealthy relationship that pretended to be justified by human-purpose.

All his life Peter was told that his desire to be loved, appreciated, and safe were the effects of the omega inside searching for an alpha that could provide and that the only way of attracting such things was to be small, bow your head, and smile sweetly. Show them that you're pliable, innocent, and willing to obey. Alpha's were taught to be aggressive to protect. But that aggression fell back on omega's, too. That an omega that could withstand their aggression and violence was an omega worth keeping. As if they were an object to be observed and placed undervalue, based on their durability and looks, rather than a human being that just wanted a life where they could be happy.

He's gone through his childhood, high school, even adulthood, expected to keep to himself until an alpha swept him off his feet. He's been told how good and submissive he looked by strangers, who lick their lips and eyed him up and down like he's a delicacy, promising him that they'd be a good alpha to him. That they'd dominate him and make him beg as if any of that sounded appealing at all. It made him sick to the stomach.

He's come to hate the word "dominant" and "submissive." Two words that never failed to spark a fit of indignant anger inside. Why was he put under this label before he could decide which one he'd prefer? Why were these the only options to begin with? Why did there need to be a dominant and a submissive at all? What was wrong with just being themselves?

People couldn't be grouped into two categories. They were too many factors, emotions, and layers to human beings to be simplified in such a manner. But the simplest way he could put it. Alpha's could be "submissive." Omega's could be "dominant." In which case, the whole concept of dominant=alpha and submissive=omega was invalid. Which left it to its bare essentials and the real distinguishing factor that what _really_ separated an alpha from an omega was that one had a knot and the other didn't. Simple as that. None of this, one secondary-gender is automatically more aggressive/gentle, violent/timid, dominant/submissive than the other.

And heats/ruts, don't even get him started on those. For eons, people have believed that an omega couldn't resist an alpha's touch during heat, and vice-versa for an alpha in ruts. It just wasn't _true._ They were all just brainwashed into believing that that was the case. It was just another integrated belief through rape-culture dolled up to look all pretty and romantic. The sheer number of trashy, rapey romance novels Peter had been introduced too was astounding.

That didn't mean the idea of BDSM was necessarily bad. As long as it was consensual between all parties, it was better. But, in all truth, the idea of dom and sub should only exist as a type of (consented) entertainment for all people involved in it, not as a way of life.

Well, the joke was on all of them, because Peter was going to show them. He's never liked the idea of bowing his head when things got too hard for an "omega." Flash bullied him all throughout his childhood, bent on making him _submit,_ and he only got angrier when Peter refused.

Which was what he was going to keep on doing.

He was going to get out of this place and take Weapon X down.

He glanced over at Wade who was still turned away from him.

And he was going to help those who were stuck here. That was a promise that Francis could fucking bet on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we go! :D Pete's pissed. Like I said, some heavy things going on in here.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, who supported the first chapter! Your comments literally made my day! :3 Love ya guys!


	3. Baa Baa Black Sheep, Have You Any Wool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But it's so plain."
> 
> "Your personalities plain!"
> 
> "Nice."
> 
> "It is nice, thank you."

"WHY IS LIFE HELL?!"

Wade craned his neck to look from his spot on the floor, lips bunched and eyebrows narrow, "Uh, I don't know, maybe because someone was stupid enough to get cornered and caught by a bunch of low-beat alphas?"

Peter turned over on the mattress and scowled back, "Well maybe if the low beat alphas weren't such dicks and fought me hand-to-hand insteada drugging me like a buncha cowards"

"I didn't realize you had such high expectations," Wade snorted.

"There's a difference between high expectations and common decency. If your gonna go on and on about how much _tougher_ you are, then put your damn money where your mouth is and fight me head-on dammit."

Wade chuckled small and amused and lay back down, one leg swaying side to side as he grinned up at the ceiling. "Nah, they knew they'd lose. When given the choice, people usually choose their life over their ego, and failing to bring you back probably would've cost _one_ of em' their life. Francis has a terrible temper once you tick him off just right."

Peter sighed and sank further into the mask, tapping his fingers against the old fraying material. It was his turn with it today. It had become law that whosoever came back to the cell after experimentation (or humiliating advances from alphas, in Peter's case) got rights to the only piece of furniture in the room. It's become something of their comfort object. There to fall on after a terrible, no good, very bad day. So long as they flipped it over so Wade didn't have to deal with Peter's scent, and Peter didn't have to deal with his.

But if he were being honest, Peter could barely tolerate his own scent anymore. He smelled so much like other alpha's it was disgusting. The only time Francis let him even wash up was when he was taken to the bathroom to relieve himself, and even then, all he could do was scrub his arms and face the best he could with the cheap paper-towels they had on stock.

An illegal underground experimentation organization and they couldn't even afford proper Hygenic utilities.

Peter would bet Hydra had better budgeting than _Weapon X_.

With his nose pressed too close against the mattress, the claustrophobic odor of foreign scents became too much and Peter turned over on the mattress again, exhaling sharply to rid his lungs of the stench.

"You smell horrible, by the way," Wade felt the need to pipe up as if he'd been prying into Peter's thoughts.

"Thanks," Peter grumbled, "Like I hadn't noticed." He sighed and lay on his side, watching Wade's leg move rhythmically against the floor, similar to that of a swinging pendulum in a grandfather clock. He's seen one before, back X-Mansion after teaming up with the X-Men once. It was in Xavier's study. A giant grandfather clock that looked older than the professor. Uncle Ben always liked them and often fancied the idea of buying one one day. But they never had enough money.

That seemed like a lifetime ago. How long has he been here? His internal-clock was next to useless, given how often he's pulled all-nighters during patrols and dozed off during the day. He couldn't tell night from the day if his life depended on it, and something told him Wade's sense of time wasn't any better. Peter often caught him mumbling to himself, talking as if there were other people in the room. Sometimes muttered about Afghanistan and fighting, eyes glazed as if he were somewhere else, and other times he seemed so in tune with everything around him it almost made Peter's own senses go in hyper-drive.

Wade's very nature should've been off-putting and strange, and it was, don't get him wrong. But after witnessing it for so long, Peter's kind of grown used to it. It was just Wade being Wade. Even if he didn't seem to know who and what was around him sometimes, he had his own dynamic, which Peter could appreciate.

He never imposed on Peter's space, which only pulled points in his favor.

Still, despite they're lack of measuring time, Peter found that even Weapon X had patterns.

The routine he's adopted in his captivity was a simple one. He slept, woke up, was taken to some weird alpha's cell to "relieve them", which he never did, or he was experimented on by Francis for while (the experiments varying from probing his spider-sense to testing his strength). After that, he was usually brought back to the cell, where he engaged in half-hearted banter with Wade, before inevitably falling asleep only for the process to start all over again. Peter couldn't divvy that into days though, considering how many times he's been woken from sleep to be shoved into some rutting alpha's cell.

There was _one_ way to tell how long he's been gone, but the prospect equally alarmed and terrified him.

As an omega, his heats were roughly 2 months apart. Same with alphas and their ruts. It'd been around a month since his last heat back when he was knabbed from the warehouse, so if he got his next heat here, he could deduce from there how long he's been with Weapon X.

But the idea of having his next heat _here_ unnerved him. Francis loved his little experiments. He'd set Peter in with an alpha during their heat, and other times they weren't in heat at all - just really eager to get laid. There were times when Peter was bound before being thrown in with an alpha, so he wouldn't fight back as much (which, _like hell_ , he knocked their teeth in with his head anyway), and there were times when he was fully clothed. There was one particularly abhorring time when Francis had stripped him completely naked.

Peter face burned with humiliation and rage, even now. He pressed his face into the mattress, uncaring for the revolting scents it let stuff his nose. It just proved how Francis liked taking different approaches to things. If Peter had his heat here, Francis would, without a doubt, take advantage of that.

"What are you worried about?" Wade asked, "I can smell you from here? It's making me dizzy."

"Nothing," Peter snapped and turned so he was facing the wall, "Don't worry about it. It's nothing."

He heard Wade sit up.

"If it were nothing you wouldn't be worrying," he said matter-o-factly. "C'mon Earnest, tell your ol' pal Wade what's on your mind."

Peter glowered at the concrete but didn't turn around. It felt childish ignoring him, but at the same time, he didn't really want to talk about it. Saying it out loud made the prospect seem more _real_ , and Peter liked to fancy the idea that maybe his body wouldn't go into heat and everything would be fine. Personally, he'd never let anyone touch him without his consent, but the alphas held captive here were pent-up and smelling an omega in heat would only rally their determination to get laid even more.

The sheer idea that Peter was just an object for them to have sex with revolted him. Add in a heat, and he may as well not even be a thing to them. Just something they felt _entitled_ to, like the air they were breathing.

"You're worrying even more now," Wade commented bluntly, scooting closer. "Really stinking up the room here."

"Shut up."

"Alright, alright," he said, "Take your time. I'm, quite literally, not going anywhere."

Then he was silent, but his presence remained. Peter could feel it on his back like someone had tossed a quilt over his shoulders. After a moment of tolerating it, he huffed and flopped over, face smooshed into the mattress and lips pinched tightly together. Wade was sitting cross-legged, shoulder's slouched and expression pinched, like a concerned, yet insane, monk with back problems. Instead of a vow of silence though, it was a vow of never getting to use his arms.

He cocked his head to the side and mimicked Peter expression. Only he exaggerated them, puffing out his cheeks like a squirrel and scrunching his lips eyes and lips tightly, like a pufferfish. Peter kept his glare for a few seconds before he couldn't take it and hid his smile in the mattress.

"Stop it, I don't wanna be amused."

"And sitting on your problems is gonna make it better?"

Peter rolled his eyes, "Sitting on thems' worked for me so far, and you can't tell me that you've never ignored your own problems."

Wade shrugged, "Touche. But a friend once told me that the best way to let off steam is to vent about it while beating your own Wade Wilson over the head with a bottle of tequila."

Peter raised an eyebrow, "Did this friend happen to be a drunk old geezer you pestered into violence?"

" _Actually_ , it was my pal, Weasel. A bartender, but geezer at heart. I _do_ always pester him to violence, though. So 2 out of 3 ain't bad."

"Okay, okay, I get," Peter sat up too, leaning back against the wall with one leg brought to his chest and the other hanging off the edge of the mattress. After a long moment of mental debate, he sighed and grit out, "I'm worried about going into heat here," with his eyes hooked to the ceiling and jaw clenched. "I...really don't like the idea of having it here. At all. It - it kind of," the word 'scares me' seemed to childish, but Wade seemed to understand and didn't push when Peter let the sentence drift.

Wade was silent at first. Then, with nary a word or warning, he shuffled to his feet, crossed the room, and collapsed next to Peter on the mattress, leaning against the wall with him. Peter tensed, shifting away from him, but didn't move. He wasn't necessarily worried, just cautious. Wade usually gave him his space, so it wasn't like he was planning anything now.

Besides, he didn't act or smell like his intentions were bad.

"Yeah," was all he said once he settled, "That sucks."

Peter whipped his head down to stare at him, eyes quirked and mouth turned down, completely unimpressed. It lasted a tense moment before he broke into a chuckle and shook his head. "You are absolutely _terrible_ at this."

Wade grinned, still staring at the ceiling. "Well, never claimed to be any good at it."

Peter sighed and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He inhaled deeply, hating the smell of the alpha's on his clothes. Oddly though, Wade's scent wasn't as irritating anymore. It reminded him of MJ's scent. Something rich in smell, but steady and somewhat sweet. It both comforted him and made him yearn for home.

But there was something familiar about its musk. He couldn't quite place it, but it nagged at his brain.

Out loud he said, "You stink too, by the way."

Wade breathed deeply as if to catch a whiff of his own scent, but his nose was angled more in Peter's direction than his own. "Yep," he said, lips twitching, "smells terrible. Absolutely revolting. But seriously, you need to shower, Sam. That much alpha smell is almost torture in itself."

"You're telling me," Peter laughed. "And my names' Peter, by the way. Now stop christening me."

"Peter," Wade repeated, lips turning upward. He peered at him, looking mischevious, "That's the best you got?"

"Fuck you, my names' fantastic!"

"But it's so _plain_."

"Your _personalities_ plain!"

"Nice."

"It is nice, thank you."

He laughed, rolling his eyes, "Petey, you're killing me."

Peter crossed his arms, "I thought you said you had a healing factor, oh invulnerable one."

"And I thought you said you were a man of comedians."

"Ouch. That _actually_ hurt."

"Ha! Looks to me like someone _else_ needs a healing factor now."

Peter scoffed, "I have one, and it does just fine, thank you very much."

"But it sucks compared to miiiine," Wade sing-songed, bumping his shoulder into Peter's.

Peter shoved him back but it was with a smile, not so much irritation. "Hey, no digging at other peoples powers till you've seen them for yourself."

"You gonna show me?" Wade asked, wagging his eyebrows, before laughing at his own childishness.

"Know what," Peter smirked, "I don't think I will. Maybe when you've earned the right to see them. My powers are not to be taken for granted, you know. Only the worthy may look upon my amazingness."

"Oh, forgive me," Wade nodded sericomically, "A truly noble quest. But the same goes for me. I ain't trusting you with my powers. You'll just take _advantage_ of me," he turned dramatically to the side, lip jutting out in a pout, "that's all you rugged mystery men do."

With all their moving about and teasing, the mattress was slowly getting pushed away from the wall, but Peter was too comfortable to fix it. Somewhere along their bantering, his worries had melted away and for the first time since getting shoved into the cell, he wasn't feeling so threatened. He hummed and leaned back, shoulder pressed against Wade's. It was nice and warm.

It lasted a minute before his eyes widened and he lurched away, pointing accusingly at Wade, "CALMING GOAT!" He screeched. "Dammit Wade, I didn't want to be calm!"

Wade blinked, somewhat startled, before screeching back, "Don't hate me for who I am!"

"I can't believe you've done this!"

"Don't start quoting vines on me!"

"You can't tell me what to do, calming goat!"

Wade responded by baa'ing aggressively and turning his nose up.

Peter gasped, affronted.

* * *

After that fiasco, they split ways again. Peter wasn't necessarily angry at Wade, nor Wade at Peter, but both were equally amused in their exaggeration and kept up the charade of betrayal. Eventually, while shooting snarky insults at each other, and inevitably falling into a Baa'ing competition, sleep overtook them.

It was hours later that Peter jolted up, feeling a flush and flustered tingle on his skin, with a strong impression that something was wrong. He paused for a long moment, sorting through his bodies sensations still half-asleep, before freezing and paling. He recognized that smell. His parched throat. The sensation growing in the pit of his stomach.

All pretense of sleep left and he scrambled toward the mattress and grabbed Wade's shoulders, roughly shaking him awake, "WADE! WADE!"

Wade jerked up, arms straining within his straitjacket as if trying to punch someone, before recognizing Peter and going slack again. He blinked the sleep from his eyes rapidly when Peter continued shaking him, looking at Peter like he was trying to translate his words from some unknown language.

"WADE!" Peter grabbed Wade's face, panicked and worried, "I'M GOING INTO FUCKING HEAT!"

Wade stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide and speechless. Almost without realizing it he said, "Funny you should word it like that."

Peter glared, completely and 100% not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than normal, but I wanted to give ya'll something sweet and fluffy before things go terrible again! This was supposed to be the last chapter, but, as always, things get out of hand, and I deduce there might be 1 or 2 more chapters left.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, who has left me comments, I love ya'll!


	4. Why-y-y, Oh Why? Seriously. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Peter woke up he was sweltering.
> 
> He felt as though he was sleeping in a furnace. With a gasping, stuttering breath, he looked up. He didn't know where he was, but it wasn't his cell. The smell was all wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: nudity, suggested sexual content, and mature themes.
> 
> That is all.

* * *

Peter paced the length of the cell, hyperventilating, with his hands tangled in his hair. Wade was following him from a distance, step for step, like a long, drawn-out shadow trying feverishly to get him to settle down.

Like the damn calming goat he was.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," he tried to soothe, jumping ahead to get in front of Peter to look him in the face. How he could be so nimble in that straitjacket, Peter still couldn't fathom. The expression he see's on Peter's face is woefully unconvinced. He didn't believe a word of that. In fact, he'd more likely to believe that Francis had a change of heart and was setting them all free with a gift basket and enough money to pay for the therapy they'd all need after this.

"C'mon," Wade tried to grin, but it was stiff and uncertain, "buck up buttercup. It's going to be-"

"If you tell me it's going to be okay one more time, I'm shoving you through the wall myself," Peter growled. "Don't lie to me, Wade. It won't fucking help anything."

Wade was silent, staring at Peter in surprise before shadows darkened his face. "Alright," he conceded, backing up a step, "Your right. I shouldn't lie to you. It sucks. It's fucked up. Francis is probably going to take advantage of you and your heat to do some pretty nasty things. Heaven knows he's tried to do the same thing to me. Just..." he sighed, looking to the side, as if unable to meet Peter's eyes, "stay strong, kay? You're only truly fucked when you give up. So...just don't do that."

He turned briskly and found himself a wall to sit against, which he leaned into and slid down to the floor. Peter's pacing eased up and he stared at Wade, guilt gnawing on his insides like a bunch of ravenous rats. ' _You're only truly fucked when you give up.'_ Peter supposed Wade would know more about that than anyone here.

When he first laid eyes on him, it was so obvious how indifferent he acted. The way he lounged about in the cell, talked cool and languid and regarding everything as only mildly inconvenient. Acting as if being retained by an evil organization was the sad norm. He said he's been there a while and Peter could only imagine how long a 'while' was. It seemed as though he'd given up a long, long time ago.

So, why did he care what Peter did or didn't do? If Peter decided to give up and let Weapon X do their thing, what was it to Wade?

Maybe he didn't like seeing someone else fail where he had failed as well. Maybe he didn't want to see Weapon X win even though they had worn _him_ out.

Why was Wade such a conundrum?

Peter sighed and picked up his pacing, "Sorry about snapping at you," he muttered, "and thanks for being honest."

"Eh, you're too smart to know that everything's not going to be okay. Just kick whoever's ass they tried to put you with, alright. Don't let Francis win, he already has a big enough head."

"You can count on that," Peter huffed, tugging on his grey shirt. Shit, it was getting really hot. He was already beginning to sweat and the swell in his gut was only getting worse. He squat down on his knees, into a position that had become somewhat iconic for as him as a hero, and fanned his liked this position. It made him feel strong and prepared. Ready to take on whatever life threw at him.

His scent was only getting stronger too. He could tell by the way Wade's nose scrunched whenever he breathed in too deeply. But, his own alpha smell was in the air too. The same rich scent that reminded him of MJ. There was something about it though. Something different, a sweet undertone that probed at Peter's brain.

It took him several walks around the perimeter while pulling his worries out of his own brain and reexamining them from all side before he stopped and turned around, gawking at Wade. "You're going into rut, aren't you?" He said, and Wade grimaced.

"Yeah, I was wondering when I should bring that up."

" _Fuck_."

"Yeeeaaah, I'd say we're both screwed. Not literally, but, you know. You _know_ "

Peter scowled at the walls. They really were. It was obvious that the alpha's had to deal with their ruts in these conditions, but what about...

"Wade, how many omega's has Weapon X kidnapped?"

Wade grimaced again and looked away. He didn't meet Peter's eyes and scuffed his feet lightly at the floor, which was all the answer he needed. Peter swallowed thickly, feeling sick. "You mean, he's been taking omega's and just sticking them in with alpha's? Just like that? No thought about what was going to happen to them."

"Basically," Wade grumbled, glaring at the floor. "I mean, sometimes they're hookers and prostitutes he buys, but it doesn't ever matter in the end. It...it doesn't usually end up very pretty for em'. I mean, it keep the alpha's 'satisfied' or whatever the fuck they wanna call it, but if the omegas end up carrying, it just gives Weapon X more test subjects and weapons. Especially if they're mutant. That's why they're so obsessed with mutants and mutates. Natures weapons', so I've heard."

Peter shook his head, teeth-baring. He felt riled like some wild animal. "That's - that's so fucked up," he shouted, kicking the wall ferociously and making a decent-sized dent where his foot hit. "This entire organization is terrible. Every single bit of it."

"What gave it away," Wade drawled, hitting his head back against the wall. "The rape, the torture, or the overwhelming stench of bleach? There's never been anything right about Weapon X."

And he's been here through all of it, Peter figured. Wade seemed to know Weapon X up and down, left and right. Has he really been here for so long? Has Weapon X been thriving while Peter's been out on the streets, hellbent on stopping such things, completely unaware of the infestation beneath the floorboards? Wade said they'd been hunting him down. Despite his charisma and aloofness, he seemed like a pretty paranoid guy. How did they manage to get him?

Peter didn't have time to think about that. A crackling wave of heat simmered beneath his skin and he groaned, smacking his head into the wall. An omega in heat and an alpha in rut. Man, the universe couldn't have picked a better time.

And it was still using his life as an outhouse it seemed.

A few moments later the doors opened again and the guards stepped in. They weren't the normal guards, but a coterie of beta. So, Francis had been anticipating him going into heat. Beta's weren't affected to heats and ruts as much as alphas and omegas, on a biological level, but that didn't make them completely cut off. They could still smell them.

"Whooo," one of them whooped with a laugh, fanning the air around them, "An omega in heat and an alpha in rut. Aren't you a lucky one, Wade." He wagged his eyebrows at Wade, who grinned and cheerfully told him to stick some very unpleasant things up his rear.

"Leave im' alone," one of his partners laughed, "We came here for the omega."

"Of course you did," Peter muttered, not looking up from the wall. It was so nice and cold. Fuck, he was thirsty. Where was some water when you needed it?

"C'mon on then" the guy laughed, reaching out to grab him, and Peter snarled, turning enough to give him the stink eye. He held up his hand, pointing at the guy threateningly, "Touch me and I will break your face."

"He totally will," Wade supplied from the floor.

The beta held up a pair of thick, highly enforced-looking cuffs, "Well, we're not supposed to let you wander. Ajax is taking precautions."

Damn. Of course, Francis wasn't going to let his "prize" resist. He knew Peter would fight back, more so than usual. In fact, Peter was nursing the idea of simply busting out of here now, plan and information be damned. If he happened to be on some super-secret based in the middle of the ocean, then so be it. But he wasn't about to let them rape him in hopes that he'd carry some mutie-baby for them.

 _Hell_ to the _no_.

His thoughts must've shown up on his face, as the betas sighed. "He thought you might do this too."

Peter's spider-sense jarred and he quickly lept from the wall as a cannister of gas erupted at his feet where the beta had thrown it. Petet held his breath, snatched it, and chucked it right back at them.

The beta's scrambled back, quickly putting on their gas masks while Peter charged. They pulled out their weapons, but those would be easy to dodge. Or at least, they would be if they didn't explode into little balls of gas in his face. The flash was the most surprising part and he stumbled, rubbing his eyes. More gas was being thrown around him, encasing him in a cloud. Unfortunately, holding his breath indefinitely wasn't on his list of powers.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Not again. Curse this stupid fucking monster steroids sedative.

Blinking the spots from his eyes, Peter braced his legs and held his arms up, ready to lash out.

"Well, that's cheating," Wade brayed to his left, and Peter was surprised that he was up on his feet and angling closer to Peter. Normally, he sat on the ground and watched the ensuing fight while shouting words of encouragement. It might've just been his added hormones that made him itching for a fight. Or it gave him an excuse to use his pent energy.

Peter could relate. Every one of his senses were buzzing like a hornet's nest.

He stood at Peter's side. He couldn't do much without his arms, but he looked ready to head-butt the beta's like a charging, hornless bull. Unless you considered horniness a weapon.

"I'll take the ones on the left, you take the ones on the right," Peter offered.

Wade rolled his head, cracking his neck slightly. "Aight. I'm down for that."

The beta's hesitated. Their guns were still up, but they looked between Peter and Wade like they weren't sure if they should use them or not. The leader of the group waited a second, before quickly gesturing for them to back up. Hastily, with little to no hesitation, they retreated.

"Use em' all," the leader said, tossing canisters of gas over his shoulder, "We'll take him once they've blacked out."

They followed the leader's directions wholeheartedly.

"Fucking hell," Wade muttered and he and Peter surged forward, which only made the beta's scramble back faster. Peter managed to grab the door before it could close, stopping it short. But it was a small victory that lasted only a few seconds.

The leader struck him square in the head with the butt of his gun and Peter stumbled back, holding his bruising forehead. "OW OW OW! _WHAT THE HELL, BASTARD_!"

The door had closed by then, so he didn't get much of an answer. Peter rubbed the swelling spot sourly, the other pinching his nose to keep the gas away.

"Here, let me see," Wade said and Peter grumbled and looked up, hesitantly peeling his hand away. Wade tilted his head. "Nasty hit, but I think you'll be fine. Well, if you sucky-ass healing factor _actually_ works."

"How would you even know my healing factor sucks?" Peter demanded, rubbing the spot a few more times. Ugh. It was so hot in here and all the smoke sweltering around them wasn't helping. It was getting blurry and fuzzy again. Peter swayed on his feet, bumping slightly into Wade. His skin was tingling. He clutched onto Wade's arms to stabilize himself.

For some reason, he found that funny. Wade was hardly stable, mentally that is. He giggled.

"I think you're losing it," Wade said, but it sounded distance, and a second later, he giggled too.

Peter laughed and bopped his nose. "I think we're both losing..." he thought for a second, before waving his hand petulantly. "Something..." It was getting harder to think. His body was like a candle. Burning and melting. His legs became wax and he tottered to the floor, pulling Wade down too.

"I think I'm gonna.., gonna go to sleep...or somethin," he muttered and closed his eyes.

Through his drifting consciousness, he heard Wade hum, "Hmm, samesies"

* * *

When Peter woke up he was sweltering.

He felt as though he was sleeping in a furnace. With a gasping, stuttering breath, he looked up. He didn't know where he was, but it wasn't his cell. The smell was all wrong.

The mattress he was on didn't smell right either. It didn't have his nor Wade's scent. It didn't have any scent, it smelled new. Which would've been nicer if his head wasn't pulsing like Time Square on New Year's Eve. Instead of relief for having something relatively new and unused, his chest ached for something familiar.

He scrambled to take off his burning shirt, only to realize he didn't have a shirt on. Nor did he have pants or underwear, for that matter. Sometime in his unconsciousness, someone had stripped him down. Peter shuddered at the thought. It didn't feel like anyone had touched him, but how could he be sure? He could hardly remember anything past the beta's tossing a bunch of gas bombs in the cell, much less them taking him out.

His heat had increased tenfold since unconsciousness. It was still in its smaller stages, but it'd reach its peak in a few days. He groaned just thinking about it. It was going to be hell, he could already tell.

"Fuck," he hissed, propping himself up on the mattress. There was a single water bottle next to him. He reached for it with the greed a crook would have for a rare diamond and wrenched the cap off, guzzling most of it down in one go. A single bottle wasn't going to be enough to sustain him the rest of the day, much less the remainder of his heat. Already, he felt as if it were drying up in his body.

"Fuck," he said again, curling back up on the mattress. His skin tingled like someone had rubbed him down with face wash. The kind that made your face feel raw after you used it. A dull, simmering pot of arousal was heating in his stomach, despite him being the only one in the room. If his biology got its way, he'd lure in a potential "mate" with his over-saturated scent, where they'd get busy trying to make a baby. But his biology could go screw itself cause parenthood was not on his agenda, and he doubted Weapon X was kind enough to supply him with birth control.

Peter's handled his own heats for years and that wasn't going to change now.

Besides, he figured he'd have bigger problems than popping a boner. Francis was, without a doubt, gonna stick alpha's in here with him. Peter was gonna have to conserve his strength to keep them all off. Heats wiped him out, even as Spider-Man. If fact, ever since obtaining his powers, he's come to realize that they've only gotten stronger.

His stamina's increased exponentially, that's for sure, and he hadn't really appreciated when MJ started calling him Bunny instead of Tiger. Who wanted to be called Bunny, anyway? Especially when you could be called something cool and fierce, like Tiger. Sure, Peter's never resembled much of a fierce cat outside his costume, but still, he's grown fond of it over the years.

Damn, he missed MJ. When they were together they helped each other through heats and ruts. Even after they broke up, they'd still help each other out, cause sometimes it was just easier having someone there to make sure you're stocked on water, food, blankets, and anything else you might want/need. Besides, just having some close was comforting to him. Personally, Peter didn't' mind a bit of snuggling before the real heat began, and after it's reached it peak. MJ loved a bit of snuggling too, so they were both cool with it. She wasn't as into it as he was, but still.

Ugh, what he wouldn't do for a snuggle buddy right now. One that wasn't going to molest him the moment they got close.

"Buckle up," Peter muttered to himself, burrowing into the mattress. "It's going to be a long few days."

* * *

And a long few days it was. What was surprising was that he spent the entirety of it _alone._

He expected Francis to shove an alpha in with him the moment he was put in a cell. Oddly enough, no one had come. Occasionally, a slot in the door would open and a tray with food and a water bottle was pushed inside, which Peter scarfed down with relish. By the time he was awake again, the tray was gone.

He couldn't say he wasn't relieved by the lack of attention. Excessive worrying while in heat only prolonged it because the body started with-holding their pheromones. An effect of the stress. At least without the threat of alpha, his heat didn't have to draw itself out.

At least that was what Peter was trying to tell himself.

Unfortunately, Francis proved to be as much of a jackass as Peter's always suspected.

It was when his heat had reached its peak did the bastard finally make a move.

Peter was having a hard time, literally. He squeezed the meager blanket he'd woken up with and pushed his face into the mattress as he rolled his hips against it. He felt red-hot and on fire. Is this what it felt like to be the Human Torch? Did Ghost Rider ever feel like someone had lit a bonfire under his skin?

Damn it, this was the worst part of heats. His entire body buzzed with unwanted arousal, building, and building like a bomb ticking down the seconds before explosion. Heats only lasted a few days, but it always felt like so much longer.

And as soon as he got out, he was gonna bunch in Francis's teeth. And kick his ass. And give him a wedgie for good measure.

With nary or warning, the door swished open and Peter was so stunned that all he could do was stare. Then he cursed and scooted up the mattress. This was it. Francis was sticking an alpha in here with him. He should've known it was too good to last. With trembling arms, he got to his knees, fists clenched and braced in front of him. He probably looked far from intimidating, sweating buckets, skin flushed and sporting the biggest erection. But he wasn't going to back down, damnnit.

"Oh fuck," his should-be-rapist muttered from the doorway and Peter froze.

Wade stood in the door, arms bound behind his back, and shoulder's slumped. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, so Peter knew he could smell the pheromones. Peter closed his eyes, grimacing. A thick, rustic smell hit his nose.

Wade was still rut too, he saw. Because things couldn't have gotten any worse.

They may have become somewhat friends over the past months, but heating omegas and rutting alpha's could bring out the worse in people.

The guard behind Wade shoved him inside, snickering cruelly, "Have fun, you lucky bastard." he said and clicked the remote in hand. The cuffs binding Wade's hands to his back opened and his arms fell at his side.

Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted for the door, running as if he had a chainsaw-wielding maniac on his tail, but the door closed just before his escape. Instantly, he found the nearest corner and scrunched himself into it, hands on his monstrous knee's and shoulder's hunched.

"Petey-" he started, but Peter shook his head.

"Just keep your distance, Wade," he said, collapsing down on the sheets again. "I know. Just keep your distance. And I'll keep mine."

Wade nodded, pushing himself farther into the corner. He didn't say anything, but his jaw was tight and his hands knuckle white. His pheromones were only getting stronger too. His rut was at its peak, same as Peter. Ugh, stupid hormones. Stupid pheromones. Stupid heats. Stupid ruts.

" _Aghhhhh,_ I'm gonna die," Peter groaned into the blanket.

Through the corner of his eye, Wade nodded, but said tightly, "Yep. Right there with ya, buddy."

"Fuck Francis."

Wade laughed, "I think that's his plan. Though, I don't think he plans on doing the fucking."

"Oof - getting a little too close to home, Wade."

He laughed again, "Sorry. My bad."

Peter stifled a laugh into his pillow, rolling over to look at Wade. "This is Weapon X for us, aye? The go-to-hell for our already shitty lives."

"Pain and boners. Sounds about right." Wade leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "Don't worry Petey. I won't touch you. I'd rather bite my own hand off before I touched you."

"I'm flattered," Peter snorted. "And I won't touch you either. We're in this together."

Wade pumped his fist half-heartedly, "Boner bros!"

This time Peter laughed out loud, "Yeah, sure. Boner Bros." A wave of heat crackled under his skin and he winced, stuffing his face back into the pillow. He definitely didn't want to jerk off in front of Wade or rub his dick into the sheets, but it was getting bad now.

What he wouldn't do for a little water.

"I won't look," Wade said, and Peter wondered if he really was that obvious. "Take care of yourself, alright."

"And what about you?" Peter asked.

Wade's brow hiked up his forehead, "What are you insinuating?"

"I'm not offering to help you with it," Peter huffed, "But if you do need to take care of your own - uh, _business_. I'll give you some privacy too."

"Thanks," he actually sounded grateful. "You know, I've got to admit, this is the weirdest, most understanding encounter I've ever had with anyone. Weird in a good way though. My ruts don't usually go like this."

Peter nodded, wanted to keep the conversation going, but he was so parched his tongue felt swollen in his mouth. He nodded again and hummed, gesturing for Wade to go on.

"You know, there was this one time I accidentally teleported into this weird, nun school. Broke my teleporter in the fall and stranded myself. Went into rut that same day. Man, it was the worst few days of my life. You know how ruts can get super long if you stressed? Yeah, that's totally what happened."

"Why would you be stressed?"

"It was a nun -school," Wade emphasized, "With _nuns._ You know, our holy sisters? It was like being a sinner in church. It was so fucking bad. Besides, I had this run-in with a nun before and, I shit you not, she must've been part bull, cause _hell_ she hit hard. I mean, I didn't mean to interrupt their prayer meeting. You hardly have any control when your being thrown teeth-first through a window."

Peter laughed loudly again. "Are you for real?"

"Real as the voices in my head."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?"

"Well, not when you say it like _that_..."

Their banter continued like that. There were times when they had to stop to take care of "business," but neither commented when the other had to pause, and they smoothly picked up conversation after. It was the most awkward, yet oddly comforting, heat of Peter's life. Talking about their individual exploits (Peter was careful not to give away being Spider-Man) was enough to keep the majority of Peter's attention from his heat, which sped up the process immensely.

Soon enough, he collapsed on the mattress, finally feeling his body temperature begin to lower. He gave himself a few minutes to re-evaluate his entire life, before cleaning himself up with the blanket and turning the mattress over. Once his heat was over, they were going to have to burn it. Burn it _dead_.

Peter tossed Wade the blanket too before settling down on the mattress. He was still thirsty as hell, but he doubted Francis would do him the favor of tossing a few water bottles in. Seeing how he and Wade hadn't done the dirty, as Francis wanted, he probably wasn't too happy right now.

When finished cleaning himself, Wade tossed the blanket in the corner to die and moved to the corner perpendicular to the one he'd been in and settled down once more. He looked as worn out as Peter felt.

Peter half-heartedly tried to ignore it, but it didn't take long for him to cave. Besides, if he were being honest, he was craving a little contact right now. Nothing sexual. Just snuggling.

If Wade wanted to, of course. If snuggling as bros was over the line than that was fine. Totally cool. Peter just like having someone close after his heat reached its peak.

"So, uh," he picked at the mattress awkwardly, "If you, uh - and you don't have to, but if you want to, you can - um -"

"Do you mind if I share the mattress with you?" Wade asked, curling his legs closer to his chest. For someone so tall and large, he looked positively tiny. He wouldn't meet Peter's eyes and stared at the ground as if it were an old arthritic granny he'd just kicked.

Peter smiled, "Yeah sure. Um, if - if you don't mind, are you okay with...uh..snu-snuggling?" that was a lot weirder to say out loud than he thought. Blushing, Peter quickly turned, hiding his face in the mattress. "Nevermind," he quickly added, "It's stupid. Dumb, even. Pretend I didn't say anything."

"You mean like spooning? That's the best fucking idea I've ever heard," he heard Wade exclaim at his back. Peter peered over his shoulder as Wade hastened over to the mattress. "But I like being the small spoon," he said, settling down, "in case that bothers you."

Peter cracked a grin, "As a matter of fact, I happen to like being the big spoon."

Wade's grin was wide, but his eyes were soft, "A man after my own heart." 

And, sure, two grown, naked men snuggling might've been a strange way to end the day. But after only having his fist in other peoples faces as his only form of physical contact, this softer type of contact was wholly appreciated.

And as Wade snuggled next to Peter, using his arm as a makeshift pillow, Peter had a feeling Wade appreciated it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep saying this, but there should only be 1 chapter left. Seriously, there the next chapter should be the last.
> 
> Maybe.
> 
> Hopefully.
> 
> I don't know, this story is gaining a life of its own. Which - no, I don't got time for that. It was supposed to be a small fic. A tiny, itty, bitty ficlet. Stop growing, you monster! D: D: I have other fics to focus on.
> 
> Anyway, thank you, everyone, for the amazing comments the last chapter! :D :D You guys spurred every single word in this chapter!


	5. Ya'll Terrible. You Know That, Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis turned back toward the screen, leaned back in his chair, and smirked. "Wilson's a bastard, but he has a flaw."
> 
> "What? His stupidity?" 
> 
> "That and the fact that he cares."

Things weren't going _quite_ according to plan.

Francis sat on the old, worn wheelie chair parked next to the monitors and screens that decorated the majority of the room, leaning against the table with his chin in his hands. Each screen was synced to the camera's hidden in the cells of his patients and gave him a clear view of everything little thing they did.

For the moment, he only had eyes for the screen in front of him. The cell is kept track of was a tad larger than the others, commonly referred to as the Mating Room, due to all the heats and ruts the interior has seen. He knew many of the guards liked to sneak in here during omega heats to get a peak and relieve themselves, as long as they had some cash to cough up, or if certain people owed them a favor.

Francis would stop their exploits, only he didn't necessarily care. If they wanted to masturbate to a screen, he wasn't going to stop them so long as they cleaned up once they were done. It was the least he could do since they weren't allowed to touch any of his patients, particularly the omegas, without distinct permission.

Francis scoffed into his hands. _Omegas_ , he thought, bemused. _What strange creatures._

Or, at least, one in particular.

Spider-Man.

Or Peter Parker, now that Francis swept a few systems and looked the man up online. Relatively unimpressive if you didn't know he owned a specific pair of red and blue tights. College student. Interned a few times at Stark Industries and Oscorp. Photographer for the Daily Bugle. The fact that he took pictures of himself and sold them to a news outlet was astounding. He was okay, as far as looks went. He had a bit more meat on him than Francis was used to. His features weren't as soft or alluring as all the other omegas he'd brought in, especially when he was sneering the way he did.

Francis figured the omega could probably make more money selling pictures online, to alphas looking for a little eye candy to leer at while they jacked off. His features weren't exactly beautiful, but he had a nice body if that was what you were into. But that was just his opinion.

Peter Parker was, by far, the strangest omega he's seen so far. He had that usual bout of defiance that every omega played with before they submitted, as they were supposed to. But he never did. No matter how many times the tried, Parker never bent the knee. Strange. Truly strange.

Not even the most intimidating, dangerous alpha he had could make him fall in line. Then again, he supposed Wade Wilson never really tried. In fact, it almost seemed like the other way around, with Wade bending the knee and Peter calling the shots.

Francis shook his head. The man couldn't grow a pair of balls and take what Francis was offering. Wilson hadn't seen or touched an omega for _months._ Coming close to a year now. Every time his rut came around, he was forced to handle it himself, but the moment Francis gave him something to play with, he didn't take it. What a dick.

Peter was only getting more and more fired up. In fact, he almost seemed to be sparking something back in Wade. An old fire Francis had watched sputter and flicker throughout his time there. Wilson still jested and joked, but there wasn't as much heart behind it. But now...

"Why don't you just keep him sedated when you toss im' in there?" Angel Dust asked, nodding toward the camera as she came up behind him.

Francis glanced at her over his shoulder but returned his attention to the cameras. Not even sticking them together while in heat and rut was enough to get them to seal the deal. Peter could make quite a few powerful babies with Wade if they just fucked and got it over with. But _no,_ they just had to make it hard.

He glowered as Peter sagged down in the mattress. His heat was coming to a close, same with Wilson's rut, and nothing beneficial had happened. All they had done was banter and joke, and never once had they made a move to spend their heat/rut together. _Really_ together.

Why didn't he just sedated Parker and let the alphas take him? There were plenty of them with powerful abilities that he could use, and Parker, even with all his powers, couldn't fight them off if Francis's drug was in his system. It'd be easy.

The alpha would knot him, bite him, connecting them, give Francis some new little patients to use, then Francis could give him to someone else and it'd repeat. It seemed flawless and a hell of a lot more beneficial than waiting for Wilson to grow a pair and take care of business.

But...

He watched as Wade lumbered across the cell and joined Peter on the mattress. Peter wrapped his arms around him from behind and Wade used his arm as a pillow, and they lay there. Snuggling.

"No," Francis said, a smile creeping up his face, "It's working."

"They hadn't even fucked yet," Angel Dust argued, twisting the match stick around in her mouth. "If anything, he's just riling that bastard up. The last thing we need is fucking _Deadpool_ going on a rampage again."

Francis swiveled around in the chair and gestured to the screen, " _Really_? Look at this? What do you see?"

Angel Dust squinted and leaned down, observing the two with an unimpressed lift of her eyebrows. "A couple of pansies snuggling, why?"

"Exactly," Francis turned back toward the screen, leaned back in his chair, and smirked. "Wilson's a bastard, but he has a flaw."

"What? His stupidity? The fact that he's an ugly motherfucker with the personality of a loud brick?"

"That _and_ the fact that he cares. He may kill and maim as many people as I could count, but when it comes to someone in need, he can't help himself. Besides, it looks like he's more than just protective. He's getting _attached_. We may not have broken Parker _yet,_ but we can ensure Wilson's complete obedience once and for all."

Angel Dusts' eyes widened and she leaned back, nodding slowly. "You wanna use Spider-Man against him?"

Francis nodded. "It might fire him up for a while, but as soon as we show him that we mean business, he'll fall in line."

"And how do you expect him to do that?"

"By _breaking_ Parker. Show him what'll happen to his precious little omega when he doesn't listen. Whether they've knotted or not, Wilson thinks of him as _his_ omega. Any alpha in his position, would. I was thinking we could torture Parker in front of him. Maybe bind him and let one of the alphas take him with Wilson watching."

Angel Dust nodded appreciatively, "That'd definitely rile Deadpool up. There's a chance it'd make him go on a bloody rage, but it also might simmer im' down. It's a risky move, Ajax, but," her lips twisted into a disgusting grin, "so long as I get to watch that Spider-bitch get fucked like he needs to be, I'm with ya."

Francis laughed, "Of course, you can get a front-row seat. Parker _is_ a bit of a bitch, isn't he?"

"A bitch with a bark _and_ bite," she admitted, "Can't wait to see him bow his head. That'll be the fucking day."

"It'll make my job easier, that's for sure."

Francis sighed, arms folding across his stomach as he tipped back in the chair. "That serum I've been working. I think it's finally ready to be tested."

Angel Dust flickered her gaze between her boss and the screen. "You wanna-"

"Use it on them? Definitely. Whatever it takes to break them as fast and efficiently as possible."

"When do you wanna do it?"

He pursed his lips. "Soon," he decided after a moment of thought, "I'll give them a few days to store up on hormones and pheromones. Maybe a week."

"I'll get everybody ready. It's bound to be a show."

Francis nodded and listened as she retreated to the door and left. He watched his two patients snuggle closer and sneered at them. "Calming goats," he chuckled, "Fight fire with fire, and they'll burn themselves out. Checkmate, Wilson. We'll see you two lovebirds in a week."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter? Who said that? An idiot said that.
> 
> NOW there will only be one chapter left *nervous laugh*.
> 
> Okay, there MIGHT be two chapters. There is a somewhat high probability that his story will expand past two more chapters. IDK anymore, this thing is running away from me.
> 
> Don't expect a full-out story. Maybe an extra long ficlet? It definitely should've be past 10 chapters. Definitely not.
> 
> Anyway, lesson of this chapter, Ajax and Angel Dust, and basically all of Weapon X, can go screw themselves cause they're all terrible.
> 
> See ya next chapter! :D


	6. Suddenly I Know Things...And It Sucks...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade glanced at him and quickly looked away at whatever he sees. "Yep," he said, bluntly. " I'm what they call a wild card. Either it's too unpredictable or they just don't want it around."

Peter thought it was almost impossible to feel any sort of happiness in this place.

And he was right.

He awoke the sound of the door swooshing open and was up on his feet before Wade had the opportunity to lift his head off his make-shift pillow - which happened to be Peter's arm. His head thumped against the mattress and he lurched up, blinking rapidly. He spotted the guards in the doorway and was on his feet next to Peter just as quickly.

For a couple of sweaty naked men, Peter thought they looked intimidating enough.

The guards - all alphas again - seemed to drink in the smell of post-heat like it was some kind of old beverage that still might have some flavor in it. He was surprised they weren't licking their lips to taste the air, like the bunch of lizards they are.

Which was saying something, because he's fought a _literal_ lizard monster so he could make that distinction.

"Well, let's go," one said, gesturing with their gun toward the door, "only Deadpool."

Peter quirked an eyebrow. He's been here for - by his guess - a month or so, but he's never heard the term "Deadpool" before. Which was surprising. The guard said the word like he was spitting out sour milk, yet there was an apprehension lilt to it. As if it left poison on his tongue.

Wade sighed and Peter glanced at him through the corner of his eye.

"That's me," he said, scooting past Peter.

Peter watched him go wordlessly but almost jolted when Wade's fingers brushed against his. It was just slightly, and barely for a second, but enough to grab his attention by the horns. It was too intentional to be by accident, but sly enough so the guards didn't notice, and he stared at Wade's back as the guards filed around him.

With a simple touch his brain had flickered out and he stood there, mentally floundering. The touch wasn't all that bad, he supposed. They did just spend the entire night - day? - sleeping and snuggling in their nudity, so a brush against his finger was hardly something impressive.

Which didn't explain why his fingers tingled weirdly and he wondered when his spider-sense had migrated from his head to his hand. The door closed and Peter stood there for several more minutes before clutching his fingers to his chest, the same way he'd done in 8th-grade science class when his hand slipped, and he burnt it on the Bunsen Burner. There was no ice from the cafeteria to soothe his skin this time, and he was deeply concerned when he didn't immediately _want this_ feeling to go away.

Harry, MJ, and Aunt May have told him about the walls he's built around himself - forged through years of gender mistreatment and social stigmas - and while he never thought about his moral standards for society as "walls" he wondered when Wade had slipped by them, and why he hadn't noticed before.

 _Oh, stop it,_ he told himself sharply, shaking his head and turning back to the mattress. _You sound like one of those damn omega-stereotypes from those stupid romance books._

Breaking down his walls. Making him "swoon." Yeah, right. This wasn't some fairytale or storybook. They were in a highly toxic and extremely unethical organization that wanted to experiment on them. That was their reality.

He was just playing into Francis's hand if he kept thinking like a weepy damsel in distress. That was why he put him and Wade in the same cell. Francis wanted them to form a connection and bond. He wanted something out of their interaction and Peter could guess what that was.

Well, no. He wasn't going to be a pawn for that bastard. Wade was a good person - probably one of the best alpha's Peters' met - but that was where the line was drawn. Any connection they made was created out a terrible environment and a bad situation, so it was hardly real.

Peter kicked the mattress in irritation when he couldn't bring himself to accept his own feebly drawn excuses. He hated the way his heart ached for a connection that wasn't terrible and toxic. Is this how he'd react to any good-natured person that came his way?

He's heard plenty of stories where omega's described meeting a respectful partner that didn't lean into stereotypes, only for the relationship to turn abusive. Was he headed in that same direction?

No. He couldn't imagine Wade being abusive. Not that he couldn't handle anything like that, to begin with. And besides, even though Wade had a tedious and somewhat violent reputation among Weapon X, Peter couldn't see him lashing out at him.

Or was that just his bias towards Wade speaking? How would he know? He barely even knew him?

"Dammit," Peter muttered, rubbing his temples. Why'd he have to overthink everything? That's all he felt like he could do, sometimes. Constantly thinking and rethinking and rethinking, trying to come to a conclusion when there wasn't a logical one to be found.

Because damn emotions couldn't go by logic, like the buncha bastards they were.

Emotions were easier to handle when he had his mask on and was beating up bad guys. Then, things were easier. Good people needed help. Bad people needed punched. And Peter was happy to deliver both.

The anger he felt towards villains and mooks who took advantage or people made sense to him. The elation and joy when the people he saved gave him hugs, or a thank you, or nothing but the cold shoulder, still left something proud in his chest.

He knew what he needed to do as Spider-Man. The self-proclaimed hero of his city. Spider-Man wasn't an omega, nor an alpha, nor a beta. He was Spider-Man. Simple as that.

But Peter Parker, he was dogged down with petty stereotypes and stigmas and gender norms, and it was _so much_ harder being Peter Parke. Sometimes he wished he could be Spider-Man full-time, even if it meant getting punched on a daily basis.

He collapsed on the mattress with an exhausted groan. His brain felt over-heated. He did not need this level of philosophical thinking right after waking up.

Pushing all his baggage to the side, Peter curled on the mattress, digging his face into the surface. But when he breathed and got a nose full of Wade's scent, he stubbornly turned so he was facing the wall, and scowled.

He didn't get much sleep.

* * *

* * *

When they came to get Peter later it wasn't without a few accessories. He took the offered grey jumpsuit that all the prisoners wore but blanched at the straitjacket the guards held out to him as well.

"What the hells that for?" He demanded, pulling the jumpsuit on roughly. "I haven't even done anything!"

The guards glanced at each other, deadpanning.

"Right," one said. "Ajax's orders, omega. You give us trouble an' this whole room will be gassed before you can bat your eyelashes."

" _Right,_ " Peter snapped, "Cause kicking you in the face _isn't_ the first thing I'd do." He glanced over the guards'shoulder. The door was shut again, but each alpha had a healthy supply of those gas bombs on hand. He could try to immobilize them all, but without his web-shooters, it'd be hard to stop them all before any of that hell-forsaken gas was used.

He looked down at straitjacket. He didn't necessarily need his arms to fight. Spider-Man could kick ass just as well as he could punch in teeth. Besides, not to toot his own horn, but he used his legs a lot while fighting, so it wasn't like he'd be hindered. If anything, it'd put him at an advantage.

If the alphas thought he was immobilized, they'd drop their guard, which left a lot of room open for an escape. Peter pursed his lips, scowled at the guards, but begrudgingly let them secure the straitjacket over him.

It was odd. He's never worn one before - unless getting your arms stuck in your jacket sleeves counted - so it was definitely new. Kind of like a big, self-hug that he couldn't escape from. As the guard buckling up the last of the straps finished, he leaned forward, breathing tickling Peter's ear.

"Look at you," he whispered, voice rough and husky - like a panting dog. "All bound up. Acting like a good little omega. Maybe Wades' tamed you after all."

Peter snarled and jerked his head back, hitting the guy square in the nose.

" _Fuck,"_ he roared, holding his face. He grabbed his gun from his hip and swung out, trying to hit Peter, but Peter easily sidestepped, and the guy stumbled. Instantly, the rest of the guards converged, the majority grabbing a hold of Peter to keep him still, while the remaining few held the guard back from tackling him.

Peter knew he probably shouldn't prob the snake anymore, but he leaned forward, teeth bared. " _Yeah_ , whatcha got? Don't start picking a fight you can't win, asshole!"

The guard shoved his comrades off and pulled Peter forward by the front of his jumpsuit, till their faces were just inches apart. "You're pushing it, omega," he growled. "Keep at this, and I'll have to teach you a lesson myself."

Peter gave him a hard look, "I've heard threats from puppies more intimidating than that. Up your goon-game, _alpha_ ," he spits it like an insult, "cause you know what?" He added a listless smirk, "ya basic."

His spider-sense tingled, and Peter moved with the hit when the guard back-handed him. He looked back up, laughing as the guards face flushed red, not expecting _that_ kind of reaction.

"You hit like a grandpa. I fight people who'd eat you up and spit you out, on a weekly basis, and most of them have superpowers. C'mon, if you gonna hit me, do it with _feeling_."

The guard bared his teeth, raising his arm again, but it was caught by one of his comrades.

"Alright," she said, "I let you have your fun. But Ajax will be wondering what's taking so long if we wait any longer. Let's get the omega back to Cell 10 and you can't talk to Ajax about teaching him a lesson," she glanced at Peter, "One that he deserves."

The guard yanked his arm from her grip but didn't try to hit him again. Instead, he leaned forward and growled, "Just wait, omega. In a few days, you won't be holding your head so high. I'll ask Ajax for the honor _myself._ Then we'll see how much that mouth of yours runs."

Peter scowled, glaring into the guards back as he hastily smoothed his uniform out and stalked back to the door.

What did he mean by that?

They led him out the door and through the corridors that were gradually getting more and more familiar. It was easier to notice things when his head was tampered with drugs. While mapping out more of the place, Peter's mind kept going back to what the guard said and he scowled at the fuming alpha's back.

_In a few days..._

_I'll ask for the honor myself..._

_Won't be holding your head so high..._

If that wasn't a secret villain scheme than Peter wasn't a pun-quipping vigilante, and whatever it was didn't sound good. With how traditional their views were, Peter could only guess what they had planned.

He didn't like thinking of that. It made his skin crawl. He glanced to the doors marking up the walls, hoping to distract himself, but it only made his skin crawl _more_. Some looked like regular ol' cell doors, but others had windows, and inside he could see experiments in process. Something he's noticed about Weapon X was how they dappled more in torture than real science, and when he asked Wade about it, he said it was because torture was Weapon X's go-to strategy for drawing out mutant abilities.

The x-gene was roused through intense emotional or physical stress, and Peter figured getting electrocuted or water-boarded would be enough to draw it out. Once the ability manifested, they put the mutant through extensive experiments to figure out all its capabilities and weaknesses.

Peter figured Weapon X thought _he_ was a mutant and that was why he was targeted in the first place. The only reason they kept him around these days, that he could guess, was because he was omega and could carry mutie babies for them. Which they were finding to be difficult, much to his indignant pride.

They stopped in front of the ever-familiar Cell 10, unlocked the door, and shoved Peter inside.

"Here's your _omega_ , Deadpool," the guard from earlier sneered as the door closed.

Wade quirked an eye at him, sitting on the mattress with his legs sprawled out. "What's that about?"

"He's just bitter cause I hurt his pride. Also, I think I broke his nose."

"Kudos," Wade chirped, "But that's not what I meant," he bobbed his head towards Peter's straitjacket, "I meant the lovely coat of arms you're wearing. Didn't realize you've turned to the looney side, my dear Petey. I'll have to introduce you to the rest of the class."

Peter snorted and strolled forward. "That won't be necessary."

It was surprisingly easy to keep his balance with the straitjacket on. Then again, Peter had the agility and balance of the best-trained acrobat. Still, it was weird not to have the mobility of his arms. It was something he never spared thought before, but now that he didn't have the comforting swing of his arms, he realized how much he missed it. For something so small, he felt as though they'd robbed him of his leg.

He stopped just before the mattress. Despite himself, the words of the guards, of Ajax, and almost every person he's ever met whispered in his ears. The first thing they'd expect an omega to do was seek out the comfort of an alpha. He didn't necessarily _want_ comfort as much as a friend to talk to, but the implications of sitting next to Wade weighed heavy on his shoulders.

He didn't want Ajax to think he was getting compliant. His pride wouldn't allow it. But he also _really_ wanted someone to talk to.

Aunt May told him, often, that he thought too much about what people would think of him. She's told him constantly that it didn't matter what they thought, as long as he was happy, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want Ajax thinking he was getting close to Wade, purely because he was an "omega.' It didn't matter what Ajax - or anyone - thought, and logically, Peter _knew_ that. But those damned emotions were getting involved again.

Instead of sitting on the mattress, Peter sidestepped and pretended to pace to make up for the hesitation. He didn't look at Wade, but he could feel the other man's eyes on him nonetheless.

Wade didn't say anything.

He didn't need to.

Wade had a habit of drawing words out of Peter's just by looking at him. His eyes just held that quiet challenge, tempting Peter to spill his thoughts, no matter how wild or unorthodox they might be. He never talked down at Peter, which only made Peter all the more willing to say what was on his mind.

And he really needed to say was that he was 100% positive that Francis had something planned, and he had a hunch it involved Wade too. But he couldn't just openly talk about something like that. Francis was watching them and who knows if he installed microphones into their walls. If he knew Peter was aware of what was going on, he'd probably do is dastardly plan _sooner_.

Wade needed to know, and he seemed to sense that Peter had something to say.

"You wanna share with the rest of the class?" He asked, following Peter's pacing with his eyes.

Peter glanced at him with reluctance. His eyes darted quickly at the camera's, then back at Wade, and the other man seemed to understand. Cause that's what Wade did. _He understood_.

He shifted on the mattress, getting more comfortable. "Well, don't say I didn't try. If you wanna stew in your own poison, be my guest," his words spoke of indifference, but his posture was slightly different. It was open, attentive, and ready to pick up any coded message Peter was willing to send.

Thing is, Peter wasn't sure he could code his message well enough. Wade seemed masterful in the art of saying something with his words and saying something _else_ with his body. Peter didn't think he could be that open. He needed to get in close if he wanted to talk to him. Close enough that Francis couldn't see what he was going to say.

Peter bit the inside of his cheek and looked toward the wall, trying to pick out the camera's that he couldn't see. But he could sense them. His spider-sense tingled low at the base of his spine, not overwhelming, but there. It tingled like this when someone was watching him. Someone was _always_ watching.

He turned back to Wade, stomach curling in on itself as he asked, "Do you...do you want to snuggle again?"

Wade seemed to think that was as weird as Peter thought it did. He didn't normally ask for close contact, and even though they snuggled after their heat/rut, that didn't mean it was a normal thing. But his body was still battling post-heat and Francis would think it was his internal "omega" seeking close contact. And since Wade was in the same boat as him, accepting his offer would be seen as a typical alpha behavior.

Wade stared at him for a few seconds, eyes boring into his face as if searching for something. After a small moment, he shrugged and shifted his position, so he was laying down. "Sure, why not?"

Peter walked onto the mattress that time. He crouched down next to Wade and lay down. It was so much harder now, thanks to the straitjacket. Wade made it seem so easy, but then again, he's been wearing his for who-knows-how-long. Peter plopped down ungracefully.

He knew Wade liked being the little spoon when they snuggled, but Peter needed to be the one to talk and it wouldn't work as well that way. So, instead of letting Wade take the smaller spoon, Peter had him lay on his side and pressed himself against Wade's chest, snuggling deep so his face was nestled in his shirt. Wade went board still as if Peter were medusa and he was the poor sap he'd turned into stone. Even his chest seemed to stop working as Peter put his head against it.

"Uh...Petey," Wade said, breathless and confused. "I know you wanted snuggles, but, uh...whatcha doin?"

"Calm down. Act natural," Peter mumbled against him, barely loud enough to hear. "I don't want them to see me talking to you. Don't talk. Just listen." Out loud he said, "I just wanted to try the little spoon, okay. You can take it back afterward."

Wade hesitated and Peter could smell the mixture of confusion on him. But a second passed before he relaxed against the mattress and curled into Peter as well, tucking Peter's head under his chin. He inhaled deeply, taking on an act of ease and calm.

Peter took a deep breath. It's been a while since he's been pressed this close to someone and it made his stomach writhe with nerves. But he stubbornly tossed his discomfort to the side.

"I think they're planning something," Peter mumbled into Wade's shirt, "One of the guards mentioned it. I don't know what it _is_ , exactly, but it's going to happen in a few days. It sounded like it was going to happen to me, but I have a feeling you might be involved too."

Wade acted as if he didn't hear anything and simply inhaled again as if breathing in Peter's scent. Peter took that as a sign to keep going.

"I don't want to see what they have planned. I think it's time to bust outta hear and..." he hesitated this time, "I just…I wanted to know if you wanted to tag along."

Wade hummed and shifted so his face was pressed into Peter's hair and he inhaled again. When he exhaled, Peter heard him say, "You think I wanna stay in this hellhole? Count me in, Pete. Whatcha planning?"

Peter ignored the opportunity to bring up the fact that Wade hadn't acted as if he wanted freedom, at all, in the last month or so that he's met him. But he also figured nobody _really_ wanted to endure torture and shrugged it off.

"Next time the guards come in, we attack," he said, "It has to be as soon as possible. When they don't expect it. We're both recovering from post heat and rut, so they'll think we're still recuperating. I don't know how much they know about you're healing factor, but I've got a decent recovery period."

Wade nestled into Peter's hair as if coddling but said into his scalp, "Same here. But Francis knows that."

"Then don't let on that you feel any different."

"You're one to talk," Wade said, voice breathy and restrained to keep back a laugh, "Francis knows you're not making things easy for him. How do you think he's going to see this sudden cuddle session?"

"To him, I'm nothing but a whimsical omega with a hard head. He'd either write this snuggling off as an effect of my post-heat or me becoming more 'compliant.' Either way, I don't think he'd be too unhappy."

"Yeah maybe," Wade muttered. There was a subcutaneous lilt to his voice and Peter glanced up.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

Wade shrugged, just a little. "Just concerned, I guess," he mumbled, "Francis is all kinds of messed up. Like me. I believe you when you say they're planning something, cause there always fucking is when Francis is involved."

Peter didn't respond. He didn't know how to respond. He totally got what Wade was saying. Dealing with people like Doc Ock and Norman Osborn, he's learned that most people have second agendas. Just being in the presence of Osborn and Wilson Fisk sent his spider-sense in crazy fits. But he couldn't tell Wade _that_.

As far as he knew, Francis hadn't let on that he was Spider-Man. Peter didn't know why he didn't scream it to the world, but it only made Peter more anxious in the long run. Peter hated it when the villains were clever and Francis seemed like the kind of guy to think things through. What was his reason for keeping Peter's identity a secret?

Still, apparently, he wasn't the only one hiding an alter ego.

"That guy called you Deadpool," Peter said. "What's that about?"

Wade exhaled loudly and pulled away from Peter, breaking their cuddle to turn over on his back and stare up at the ceiling. When Peter sat up to look at him, he paused, both concerned and unnerved with the smile Wade is wearing. It's not soft or grim or even mischievous like it usually is. But wide, sharp, like a beast baring its teeth.

"Just a codename," he said, not even looking at Peter. "Someone who I was. Or am. Not sure if we ever separated the two. I wore spandex and tights, like all the greats, but with more than enough kills under my belt to label me a villain. Or an anti-hero if they're feeling gracious."

Peter recoiled and leaned back, eyebrows pinching. "Kills?" He parroted.

Wade glanced at him and quickly looked away at whatever he sees. "Yep," he said, bluntly. "Kills. A whole lot of em'. I'm not exactly a nice person. Avengers labeled me a bad guy. X-Men want nothing to do with me. Villains aren't returning my calls. I'm what they call a _wild card_. Either it's too unpredictable or they just don't want it around."

That's when it clicks. No wonder the name Deadpool sounded familiar. He's heard it from Tony before. A name muttered sourly throughout the team, but nothing they ever elaborated on. Peter was out of the loop when it came to big news in the superhero community, so he never gave it a second thought. The Avengers knew, and as long as "Deadpool" never showed up in his city, they would handle it.

But now he _knows_. Deadpool was a mercenary with more kills under his belt than the Winter Soldier. A man who couldn't die thanks to his healing factor.

Every single mention of Wade's healing factor pulled to the forefront of his mind, and he sucked in a breath. It was so obvious. Why hadn't he seen it before? The truth had been on the tip of his nose and he looked right through it.

Wade still doesn't look at him, but his smile is tighter now. His eyebrows pinched. "Everyone has an alter ego, Pete," he says, and glanced at him briefly through the corner of his eye, "Even you. It's just a matter of letting it out."

Peter stared at him, betraying no emotion on his face.

Truth is, he doesn't know how to feel. He's conflicted.

Killing was a no-no to him. A no-no in general. He didn't like it. He didn't condone it. Death was something Peter avoided if it were possible. He's experienced enough of it to keep it at an arm's length with everything he did.

His parents.

Uncle Ben.

Gwen Stacy.

Captain Stacy.

Countless people he couldn't save in time. Children who lost their parents. Parents who lost their children.

The word stuck in Peter's throat like a chunk of cement lodged in his esophagus.

Wade killed. Apparently, he's killed lots.

But he's shown him nothing but respect upon meeting him.

But he's killed.

He shared Peter's heat and never once threatened him.

But he's killed.

He treated Peter like a person, which was more than most other alphas ever did in his life.

But he's _killed_.

Wordlessly, Peter got to his feet. He doesn't look at Wade and Wade doesn't look at him. He steps over Wade's body and returned to his favored corner and stared at the floor.

_Well fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up and the plot draws closer. Whoop! Thanks so much for the support guys.
> 
> I've recalculated and this story will now have *counts on fingers* like, 2 or 3 more chapters. But my numbers have been flimsy so IDK I guess we'll have to wait and see.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :D


	7. Sweating In The Cold...Why Is This My Life?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter knew his views were looked down upon by a lot of his peers. His no-kill policy was almost childish to them. Punisher sneered at the very thought. Black Widow and Hawkeye tried to reason with him that there were always circumstances when leaving them alive wasn't possible. Even Iron Man, who Peter knew still felt guilt over his world-wide-weapons-producer title, tried to explain that, sometimes, you couldn't stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non-con/sexual assault (ish – not quite, but it's not small enough to brush off. It never is.) and violence up ahead.

Given that, for a majority of Peter's teen years, he's been nothing but an awkward bean-pole – only ever leveling up to awkward bean-pole with more muscle as he entered adulthood – he thought he could handle most uncomfortable situations. His childhood had prepped and molded him into the perfect vessel for taking on the most cringe-inducing of circumstances.

But this wasn't a normal circumstance. It's not like he had been stripped to his boxers and shoved out of the boy's locker room, to stand before the mass of the school. He wasn't sputtering and stuttering as he vainly tried asking someone to the winter dance. If wasn't even looking into the eyes of someone who trusted him, only for them to spit in his way for being "irresponsible."

No, he just found out that his cellmate, and one of the few alphas' he's encountered that treated him like a person, was a killer.

That _really_ put a damper on things.

Before the big reveal, him and Wade normally would've passed the time through meaningless banter and teasing arguments. When they weren't fighting over the mattress, they were trying to guess different things about their powers. Wade already knew of Peter's strength but relentlessly poked at Peter about is almost uncanny ability to predict when he was about to get hit. Peter already knew about Wade's healing factor, but with smart probing he found out that Wade was practically immortal and that he was weapons savant. (To be honest, he should've guessed of Wade's alter-ego. All the signs were there.)

But now, they sat in silence.

Logically, Peter knew they needed to discuss a plan of escape, so they didn't end up running around like a bunch of flailing, headless chickens. But the revelation of Wade – or Deadpool's – past was like a thick cloud of radiation looming dangerously over their heads.

Wade hadn't moved from his spot on the mattress for hours. Peter observed that despite Wade's restless behavior, he could sit still in an almost hibernating way. It was like he drew so far into his head he forgot everything around him. At the moment, Wade was glaring at the ceiling, occasionally muttering argumentatively under his breath. But he never acknowledged Peter, as if he didn't exist at all.

Peter, himself, took the time to dwell into deep philosophical conversation with himself.

Pulling on his Spider-Man cap, he knew that this was a no good, very bad, terrible idea. He fought people like Wade daily and had never hesitated to snuff out their murder plans. If they had met out on the street, there's no doubt it would've resulted in a fight until he got Deadpool out of his city. Killing wasn't a viable option for him and it probably never would be.

But maybe it was different because he met Wade as Peter Parker.

He could always try to escape by himself and leave Wade to Weapon X. As a killer, he deserved it right?

But that left something sick in Peter's stomach. That mentality was the same as justifying murder. They were bad people, so they must be killed. Wade killed people, so he must be left to the mercies of Weapon X. It was justice. It was getting what was coming to them.

But Peter could never willingly walk away from this organization knowing Wade – or anyone – was stuck inside getting tortured and abused. People were bad but did that make it right to treat them inhumanely?

Even so, Wade's shown himself as a person who's _not-so-bad._ He was nice. He respected Peter. He was good at banter. He never flirted with Peter cause he knew it'd make him uncomfortable. But could Peter proudly hold his head up as Spider-Man if he helped someone who's killed – possibly – dozens of people? Didn't that go against everything he's ever stood for?

On the other hand, what kind of people had Wade killed? Wade's voiced his opinions on traffickers, rapists, and abusers quite loudly, so if it were people like that…

Did that still make it right? Did the type of person really matter when it came to cold-blooded murder?

If he were being honest, it didn't make Peter _as_ squeamish when it was drug lords, abusers, trafficekers, and rapist that got the end of a bullet. Mostly knowing that those kinds of people were the worst of the worst and they deserved a little pain and retribution for what they've done. But that sounded like a god-of-death mentality that Peter's heard before.

He's encountered more knuckleheads than he could count on his fingers who tried to kill someone else in the name of retribution and justice. Most of the time, their reasons for attempting to kill their target weren't even good. Sometimes he could understand. He once stopped a girl from shooting a man in the alleyway because he had raped her sister. It was terrible, seeing the look on her face when Peter yanked the gun from her hand. She screamed at Spider-Man when the guy left, raving about how he'd gotten away with hurting her sister. It shook Peter to the core.

He could understand their frustrations. When the bad guys just came running back, no matter how many times he watched them get carted off to jail. It was belittling and frustration. But that didn't mean you could run around with a gun, shooting whoever you liked. There was always another way and Peter liked to show that through example.

It took him a few days of all-nighters, but through Dare Devils guidance (and insights to the law – pun intended), he sleuthed up enough information and evidence on the man who raped the girls' sister and dropped it off to her with instructions. There were people in the police department he had connections to. Go to them. They'll make sure he gets a fair trial and stays behind bars.

Peter knew his views were looked down upon by a lot of his peers. His no-kill policy was almost childish to them. Punisher sneered at the very thought. Black Widow and Hawkeye tried to reason with him that there were always circumstances when leaving them alive wasn't possible. Even Iron Man, who Peter knew still felt guilt over his world-wide-weapons-producer title, tried to explain that, _sometimes,_ you couldn't stop it.

But Peter wouldn't be cowed. Yeah, they could call him childish and naïve. They could look down their nose and sniff at the idea of a no-killing tactic. They could even scoff and claim it was his oh-so gentle omega side that didn't want to see people hurt.

But they'd be wrong. Peter wasn't immune to the stench of New York's garbage. The scumbags who took advantage of other people left a rotten taste in his mouth, and more than once he's knocked them around before carting them off to prison. What were a couple of broken bones and bruises to fuckers like those? They showed little restraint on the people they harmed, so Peter returned the favor.

At the end of the day though, they were still _alive_ , and they'd spend the rest of their days behind a set of bars. Where they belonged.

Still, Peter wasn't so naïve to see why they'd think him as a naïve, sentimental creature. But he didn't care. By killing other people, did that make the killer any better than those they claimed deserved it?

Or would killing them inadvertely make the world safer?

Peter knew where he stood, and he wasn't going to move from it. But he wasn't sure so about Wade. The blunt side of his mind said that Wade was no different. But the other side said that he _was,_ and Peter couldn't tell for the life of him if it was his own bias toward Wade clouding his judgment. He liked Wade's company. He really did. But knowing that Wade had willingly spilled blood was liking realizing he'd poured sour milk into his bowl.

Either way, killing itself was still a serious topic. Peter may have gotten used to death in his line of work, but that didn't make it any better. He could name a few people who talked of killing like it was something as cool and simple as a new videogame on the market. But it wasn't something to take lightly. Even if it was the death of bad people, killing is a very, _very_ serious thing.

And he couldn't just brush this off as another one of Wade's quirks either. Naming every single episode of the Golden Girls was one thing, killing dozens of people was another – regardless of whether or not those people "deserved" it. Wade knew this was serious, that's why he didn't deny or joke about it.

To be honest, it seemed like he's had the conversation a lot.

Peter sighed and leaned back against the wall. His brain felt like a smoking, glitching hyper-computer on the verge of breaking down. Running hot due to over-use. He needed to rest up for a potential break-out but, ugh, his mind wouldn't stop going. Mulling over this information. Pulling it together and apart like a taffy machine.

He glanced at Wade through the slits of his eyes.

Should they talk about it?

Peter's read more than enough trashy novels to know that to _avoid_ cringey drama was to communicate. To talk it over _at least_ so they didn't have to stew in this hell forsaken awkwardness any longer.

But that also meant _initiating_ conversation. Another thing Peter wasn't the best at. Trying to start a conversation is was normally sparked the awkward circumstances Peter found himself in as a kid.

He wiggled his fingers nervously inside his straitjacket, wishing he could wring them together in the nervous habit he had when he was feeling anxious. Eyes drifting back to the floor, he tried to dig up some answers. How would he start it anyway?

He couldn't try to snuggle again. Hell, that'd be _so_ weird. He couldn't out right bring up their escape plan either. And mentioning Wade's killing as a focal point seemed disastrous.

Would a good pun be enough to break the ice? It how he started most of his conversations when he was in his mask.

But what pun would he use? There weren't many options and nothing within the past few minutes to build it on.

His arms wiggled in his straight jacket.

 _Oh,_ he could go with, 'this straitjacket is the only thing _straight_ about me.'

Eh, that was kinda flirty and random though. Not what Peter was going for, but a good one to use if he's ever tied up in a straitjacket again.

Maybe he could use, 'This awkwardness isn't the only thing you could kill.'

Was that too touchy? That felt too touchy. A jab at the nerves. More Peter's nerves than Wades, if he were being honest. Let it never be said that he didn't enjoy laughing away his pain through dry humor and terrible puns.

'How long having you been _wade-_ ing around in the _dead pool_?'

Now that one was just stupid. And for some reason, Peter figured Wade would like it. The stupider the better.

Ugh, why were these things so hard to figure out? Why couldn't it be easy for once? He was a grown-ass adult. He could start a grown-ass conversation.

"I can smell your frustration from here," Wade drawled suddenly. He still wasn't looking at Peter, but his foot twitched, signaling that he was drawing out of his head. "Am I allowed to ask if you wanna talk about it? Or am I just inciting the flames of your wrath?" He said it wryly, like he was used to people questioning him about his motives and habits.

If killing could be considered a habit.

Peter took a deep breathe. Okay, that was an opening. The first part of starting a conversation was actually _starting_ it, so Wade just threw him a bone. He could respond at the very least.

"I guess we should talk about the elephant in the room," Peter replied, sitting up. "I mean, it's cramped enough in here with my pride and you're jokes. It's getting claustrophobic." Was that a good way to start?

Wade sighed, staring up at the ceiling for a few more precious seconds, before sitting up too. He still couldn't meet Peter's eyes, so he glared at the mattress, then at the door across the room. "First off," he growled, "Don't expect me to apologize. A lot of those fuckers had it coming alright, and I'm not going to say sorry about getting rid of them."

"Okay, Wade, looks-" was all Peter managed to get out before his spider-sense pinged and the door opened. It was becoming routine to see the guard's step in, but it never failed to irk Peter. They had the absolute worst timing.

They couldn't wait for 10 fucking minutes?

Wade sighed again, long and overdramatic as he heaved to his feet. "It's already time for my shots, eh?" His tone was care-free, but his body was braced and ready for a fight, inciting another tingle from Peter's brain. He was already on his feet too.

Despite the talk they so-clearly needed to finish, it looked like they're plan was still a go. Thank goodness. Peter was ready to get out of there.

The guards were focused on Wade, so Peter didn't hesitate to kick the one closest to him straight into the wall. Using Peter's distraction, Wade lunged forward and slammed into an alpha with his shoulder, knocking them into the wall too. He pushed off roughly, only to diving back in with a knee to the alpha's stomach, making him double over.

Peter easily dodged the attempted hit from another alpha, and flipped back on to the wall, clinging to it with nothing but his feet, before propelling himself straight at the alpha and knocking him onto the floor. Despite the situation, Wade whistled.

"Okay, that was impressive, and would you be offended if I said it was hot? Because it was really hot," he had a semblance of the smile he usually wore as he head-butted one of the few remaining alphas. Peter decided not to answer.

He wasn't particularly offended. Usually when alpha's whistled, it was because they were looking at his butt. Impressing someone with his fighting skills, that was something he actually kind of…liked. He decided not to give Wade answer, aside from a small grin, and when the last of the guards went down, they both strolled to the door.

"What'd you say your origin was? Orphan circus-child adopted by SHIELD-esque corporation?" Wade continued, half teasing. "Where'd you learn to move like that?"

Peter cracked him another half grin as he walked out of the room, "All self-taught." Well, more or less. He's had a few defense classes with Black Widow, but a majority of his fighting came from instinct and reflexes alone. It was through years of Spider-Manning that he's developed his own type of fighting style, one that Natasha has promised to sculpt and cultivate like fine wine. It scared Peter to a point, but if _Black Widow_ was interested in his fighting style, who was he to complain?

Still couldn't best her in a fight, but he could hold his own against her at least. That was something to be proud of.

Wade inhaled deeply at his back, "Apparently, my healing factor doesn't save me from _everything._ Not when you're hitting me with things like _that_. Cheapskate regeneration. Can't get anything nice these days."

"Come on," Peter said, "We've got to hurry. As much as I love kicking these guys, I want to get out of here as quickly as possible."

"Ditto," Wade chirped, jogging up next to him. Well, it was sort of like a jog. Peter was reminded again that it was strange trying to run in a straitjacket. Without the mobility of his arms he felt like a walking slug. Or a waddling duck. He wasn't sure.

As soon as they had stepped out of the cell, Peter expected lights to flash red and alarms to burst overhead, but it was tantalizingly quiet. Not so much as an urgent message through speakers urging Weapon X to apprehend them.

Either Weapon X was _that_ unprepared for a breakout, or Francis had other things planned. Chances were, Francis had a back-up plan. He seemed like that kind of villain and Peter _hated_ that kind of villain. The ones who had more than a single brain-cell. Give him Shocker or Electro any day.

"You've been here longer," Peter said, glancing at Wade, "Where to?"

Wade bobbed his head to the left corridor, "Memories a little fuzzy from all the, you know, torture and mind meddling, and _drugs_ , but I have a feeling we should go that way."

"You've got a feeling?" Peter parroted and Wade shrugged. Down the hall, the sound of approaching feet had Peter perking up. "Yeah, okay. I think I just got that feeling too. This way it is."

They hurried off in that direction. They passed more opened-window rooms with experiments going on inside, and doors similar to the ones that held them. Peter eyed them sourly as they went. How many people did Weapon X have imprisoned?

Peter liked to joke that they had bad lighting and their building looked rundown, but they also managed to stay off his radar (and the Avengers, for all he knew), so they couldn't be new to this. They must've be at this game for a long time, especially if they were prepared to take on street-vigilantes like Peter. He wasn't an Avenger yet, but he's been a player in the superhero game for years.

But Peter saw them now and nothing was going to stop him from coming back and putting a stop to this.

He wasn't the only one thinking along the same lines.

Wade jaw was set and gritted as he glanced through the windows. But he also looked a little….resigned to it too. Like it exhausted him.

Peter looked away to focus on not tripping over his own feet. There'd be time to mull over the complexities of Wade Wilson some other time.

They turned another bend only to skitter to a stop. A line of masked guards closed off the hall and when they turned to double back, another line had sprouted behind them. Back-up plan. Damn you, Francis.

"Divide and conquer?" Peter suggested as they turned back to back.

"Why not," Wade said, rolling his head on his shoulder to pop his neck, "I've been needing a bit of a workout."

"Aww, you're both so cute," a painfully familiar voice crooned. The line split momentarily to let Francis and his bodyguard, Angel, through their ranks. Francis wasn't wearing his normal lab coat, but a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. It looked weird seeing him dressed so casually. Like seeing Doctor Octopus in board-shorts and a t-shirt kind of weird.

Peter shuddered at the imagery.

"I knew you'd click," Francis continued, "For supers who are so different you have a lot in common."

Wade's head cocked a tad, "Supers?" He parroted. "Is that what they're calling mutates now? Or anyone with a powerset, for that matter. Kinda cheesy."

Francis chuckled, "Of course not. Supers, as in spandex clad idiots. Sure, you've always bordered more on villain, but your little omega there," he nodded to Peter, "is a full-fledged superhero."

"Vigilante," Peter corrected, just to be petty. His feelings toward "vigilante" differed on the context. Technically, he _was_ a vigilante. But he didn't like it when J. Jonah Jameson was calling him it. Then it was just mean.

Wade glanced down at Peter in surprise, expression faltering for half a second before it went guarded. Peter tried not to scowl. What was that for? He looked as if Peter had personally kicked him _and_ his puppy. He hadn't even done anything.

"What's your point," Peter snapped to distract from the way his chest hurt.

"My point is that you have a lot in common," Francis shrugged, "You two should be thanking me for matching you up"

"The hell we will," Peter said, crouching down. He couldn't do much with his arms, but he still liked the position. It was his go-to defensed, and it made him feel better. Wade braced himself as well, but he was adamant about not looking at Peter again. The awkward tension was back.

Yippee.

"That's the problem," Francsis sighed, "If you won't appreciate it then I'll find someone else who will."

Ah, there's the threat Peter's been waiting for. That was always where the threats went. Francis needed to get some new material.

Francis didn't seem to think there was anything else to say and turned to leave. "You know what to do Angel," he said over his shoulder.

Angel grinned and cracked her knuckles into her palm, "I hear ya, Francis."

"It hurts how cliché they are," Wade muttered through the corner of his mouth and Peter fought back a smile. Despite their miss comings, at least they could still insult the bad guys. He'd take it.

"How mad will you be if I say something just as cliché?" Peter whispered back, and Wade raised an eyebrow.

"Try me."

Peter cleared his throat and said at Francis's retreating, "You won't get away with this!"

Wade hissed, "Oof – that was bad. I might have to sacrifice you to the bad guys for that one. Depends on whether or not Francie says it."

And, sure enough, Francis glanced over his shoulder, "I already did."

Wade gagged. "Oh, he _did_ it. Holy shit balls, that was terrible. _Damn_ , I didn't think he'd actually take the bait," he laughed loudly, "But hey, he just jinxed them. That's like, the rules. Once they saw that, we're certain to win."

"All part of the plan," Peter agreed.

Angel grabbed a gas mask offered to her by one of the minions and Peter jerked forward, "They're trying to gas bomb us again," he said, hitting into the first guard he could reach. He kicked another one of the alphas into Angel, who stumbled and threw them off her just as quickly.

Wade sprang forward, using his body as a weapon. He barreled into people with his shoulder, head butt them, kicked them with enough force to knock them down, and rammed them into the wall. It was impressive. Looks like he could fight without his arms too.

Peter used his stickiness to his advantage. He jumped onto the wall, then onto the ceiling, before dropping down on the shoulder of an unsuspecting alpha and twisting his body so they slammed into the floor. He kicked the alphas mask off his face and leaned to the side as a fist tried to connect to his head.

"HA-ha, you thought!" He turned, kicking his new attacker square in the chest. He dodged the shots fired at him, taking to the walls again and attacking from above again. Damn, he wished he had his webshooters though. This fight would be already over if he did.

It was after several minutes of fighting that Peter realized the Weapon X numbers were only growing. With every 1 person he took down, 2 more appeared, or some shit like that. Wasn't that Hydra's bit? Cut one thing and two other things appear. As much as Peter _loved_ punching cliché bad guys, he was getting tired. It's not like Weapon X has been providing healthy meals and exercise, other than Peter and Wade's morning routine of stretching and sit-ups (unless you counted repeatedly having to fight off perverts and rapists – which, he didn't consider that a _workout_ as much as a pleasant inclination.)

"They're not going away," Peter said, dodging the quick punches and jabs from Angel, who was quickly gaining ground on him.

"Hit them _harder_ ," Wade advised, despite the fact that he had a whole group of guards hanging off his shoulders, trying to push him onto the ground.

"That'd be easier if I had my _arms_ ," Peter replied, finding refuge on the ceiling. Angel glared up at him and grabbed the gun hanging off her hip. Peter ran quickly across the ceiling to avoid the trang darts, flipped down to the wall, and barreled into the alpha's piling on Wade. He managed to knock enough off for Wade to straighten and attack them with new fervish.

They stood back to back again. It was easy to maneuver with Wade, given the help of his spidey-sense so they weren't accidentally hitting _each other_. For a moment, he actually thought they were winning.

Something clicked at their feet and Peter harshly kicked the gas grenade away, hard enough that it hit the person responsible right in the face and they went down with a comical noise that almost made Peter laughed.

"How we doing?" Wade asked.

"Decent," Peter shrugged, wishing he could wipe the sweat from his forehead, "We're not out yet, and escape is the only A+ material I'll allow."

"You two need to just shut the hell up," Angel growled, leaping into the mix. That's when things went downhill.

She grabbed Wade with her impressively strong arms and slammed him into the ground. Wade's eye grew wide and he made a noise of surprise as the flooring cracked under him and he groaned. Peter heard a sharp snap from the impact and winced.

"Rude!" he growled, going after Angel, "Snapping people's spines is not a proper way to make friends. I thought we went over this."

Angel managed to evade Peter's kicks but wasn't expecting it when he crouched and thrust upward, catching her chest and stomach between his shoulder. She made a wet gurgled sound and curled an arm around her midsection, face pinched and looking a little green around the gills. Peters' threw up more than enough times when he was hit there, but it looked like Angel was made of tougher stuff. Or maybe he just needed to hit her harder.

"You say you aren't mated," Angel bit, still bunched on herself, "Yet you throw yourself out to protect him. You're a strange omega, Spider-Man."

"I'm only doing what any decent person would do," Peter denied hotly, "Which is as much as _you_ could say. Stop assuming things. It's bad for my rep."

"You won't have much of a reputation among your colleagues for long," Angel growled, lurching forward, pain forgotten. With how many people were buzzing around them, Peter's spider-sense was not enjoying itself. To him, it was like having a fretting, nervous parent fussing over every little thing he did. In this case, it was a screeching, hysteric mother hen, flapping its wings and clucking loudly.

He channeled his focus mainly on Angel, but having so many other threats at his back, without the full abilities of his body, was beginning to stress on him.

He managed to keep his own for a few minutes before Angel Dust kicked his legs out from under him and body-slammed him into the ground. It wasn't hard enough to break _his_ spine, but it did push all the oxygen from his lungs. She curled an arm over his throat to prevent him from catching his breath, despite the way he was already wheezing.

"Do it now," she ordered the guards.

"But – but you're not protected," one of the alphas babbled.

"Do it _now_ or I'll kill you myself!"

A second later another gas grenade rolled next to them. Wade was trying to sit up, wincing as the bones in his back cracked and popped. When the grenade stopped next to his leg, he and Peter made eye contact.

"Ah shit," he grumbled as a cascade of smoky, white gas enveloped them. Peter tried fighting off Angels' chokehold, and after moment of his wheezing, she finally let go so he could suck in the sedative. The effects were always the same and only a few moments passed before Peter was unconscious on the ground.

* * *

When Peter woke up, the first thing he realized was how much his throat hurt. Apparently, getting strangled before breathing in an extremely strong sedative wasn't good for the esophagus. The second thing he realized, was that he'd been stripped naked in his unconsciousness and redressed.

The straitjacket and prison jumper were gone, replaced by something _far_ worse.

Peter's cheeks burned as he looked down at the decorative leather harness strapped over his body. He's seen them before, in sex shops and online. Nothing he's ever purchased, though he knew a few people who were into this sort of thing. He might've been. He wasn't sure, he hasn't had the time nor opportunity to try it out. But, _hell,_ he didn't want to wear something like this _now._ Definitely not HERE.

It left nothing to the imagination and did little to protect his more private parts. In fact, it seemed to do nothing but put them on display.

What was worse, they had bound his arms behind his back and chained him to the floor. A collar had been fastened around his neck and dangled with a leash.

Peter's never been more mortified.

"What. The. _HELL!"_ he shouted, pulling on the restraints. "You bastards!"

"Now, now," Francis said somewhere behind Peter, voice as irritatingly serene and Britain as it always was, "Let's not do that. Calm down and this might go easier for you.

"Fuck you!" Peter growled, trying to turn around to spit at him, but his restraints were short and strong, and were long enough to permit him the action.

"No," Francis said, walking into Peter's vision, "I think fuck _you_ is the more appropriate way to go about it."

"That's what I said, _fuck you_ ," Peter snapped snidely.

Instead of getting irritated, like Peter wanted him to, Francis smiled in amusement. "We'll see how you feel after this," he turned back in Peter's line of sight, brandishing a needle. This guy and needles, Peter couldn't understand it. Was it a fetish? A freak obsession?

He recoiled as Francis stepped closer. "What, another dumb-ass drug," Peter bit, pulling away when Francis crouched next to him. The pounding of his heart was loud in his ears. Everything Francis injected in him was bad. Nothing good ever came out of it. Besides, the look in the bastard's eyes was far more grim and eager than they've ever been before. That couldn't be good.

"Yes, actually," Francis grinned, crouching next to him, "and if you don't stop squirming, I'll call someone in here to make _sure_ you hold still. With what you're wearing, I'm sure they wouldn't mind getting their hands on you."

"You're fucking disgusting!" Peter snapped, still jerking away from him. Both choices weren't good, but if this new drug was anything like Francis's super-sedative, then he didn't want any part of it. Peter could fight off alpha's, at least. He couldn't do that when his mind was roaming Saturn.

Sure enough, Francis was true to his word. When Peter failed to hold still long enough for him to distribute the drug, Francis called in a group of guards. The alphas were all too eager to comply, as was predicted, and they eagerly grabbed a hold a whatever part of him to keep him still.

"There we go," Francis said, withdrawing the needle from the juncture of Peter's neck, lifting the collar up to get close to the scent glad. "See? That wasn't so hard."

"Get the fuck off me," Peter snapped, struggling against the alphas still holding him. They laughed at his attempts and Francis merely grinned in amusement as he walked off to set the needle down. He'd see who's laughing when Peter got out of this stupid outfit and beat the shit out of them.

After a moment of wondering hands that made Peter sick to the stomach, Francis called them off, and they unhappily retreated, either back to where they were before, or somewhere in the corner of the room where Francis told them to wait.

Peter rubbed the side of his neck against his shoulder, as best he could. The sting only remained a few minutes longer. He waited for the crash of dizziness and nausea that came with the sedative, but after a few minutes, he was surprised when nothing happened.

Maybe it was defective.

Francis wasn't looking at him anymore, too busy muttering to himself as he looked over something in the corner. Peter could feel the remaining alpha's eyes on him, which he did his best to ignore.

What was the drug supposed to do? Annoy him. It did that, mission accomplished. Can he go home now?

Another moment passed, and Peter rubbed his head against his shoulder again. Something wasn't right, if his spider-sense got any say in the matter. The longer he sat there, the more his nerves ground together, and anxiety rubbed his skin like sandpaper. The bad guy never stuck a drug in your body that did _nothing_. There had to be a purpose.

He rubbed his neck with his shoulder one more time before hunkering down and taking a deep breathe. He just needed to keep a clear head and figure a way out of his. These leathers were more decorative than authentic, so it wouldn't be too hard to tear it off. Whatever Francis had bound his hands in was made of far stronger stuff, but judging by how it felt, not strong enough to really hold him. The chains might be a problem though.

He took another deep breath. Was it just him or was the air getting thicker? It smelled like… _something_. Something familiar. He took a big whiff of the air, nose pinching.

It took him a second to realize that scent was coming from him.

That's when he noticed it. A deep, bubbling ball of magma building in his gut, spreading an uncanny heat to the rest of his body. Peter took another deep, panting breath, suddenly feeling _very_ flushed. His legs trembled under his weight and sweat sprouted on his brow.

This shouldn't be happening. He smelled like an omega in heat and that was _impossible._ He had his heat only a few days ago. He wasn't scheduled for another one for, at least, a few months. His body didn't have enough pheromones produced to have another heat of normal magnitude and his body had _just_ recovered from the one he already had. He may be Spider-Man, but even _he_ needed a little R&R before his body started storing up on pheromones again.

"Fr – Francis," Peter groaned, almost doubling over as the heat in his bell grew tenfold, "Wha – what did you- "

"Quite a kicker," Francis said, looking up from the clipboard he was writing on, "Something new I designed. Do you _know_ how annoying it is to wait for omegas to go into heat naturally? Depending on how soon you pick them up, it could be months, and Weapon X just doesn't have the time for that. Omega's are 87% more likely to get pregnant if they're in intercourse during a heat, and time is precious."

"Sp - spare me the lecture," Peter grit. "So you made a drug to _force_ them into heat?"

"Of course," he grinned, "no matter how pheromones you've stored up, or how long ago your heat was, my drug will incite the same reactions of a heat from your body. Technically, you're the first omega I'm _really_ trying it on, so this is an exciting opportunity." He said it like Peter should be leaping with joy at being the guinea pig.

This didn't feel right. His body temperature during a natural heat didn't feel like this. It felt more like a natural, internal fire. A spark created by lighting, or the natural heat of the sun. But this…this was a man-made flame. Some produced and stuck in his body, eating up his insides. It wasn't right and his body couldn't figure out what was wrong.

His scent gland was at work pumping pheromones out into the air as Peter's senses expanded. He could explicitly smell every alpha in the room and sense every excited and aroused shift they made. It picked at his brain, almost pulling him to their scents. What was this ache?

His spider-sense buzzed louder, and he groaned as another swell of heat enveloped him.

"It's easier when you don't fight it," Francis advised, "Just hang back and let it run its course."

"Fat chance," Peter grit, wishing his hands were unbound. Sweat was rapidly sprouting over his body and a distinct ache was pounding in the back of his head. It took only a few more minutes before he could avidly smell the scent of his own pheromones in the air, which was eagerly drawing the responding pheromones from the alpha's lining the room. They were shifting anxiously on their feet.

His spider-sense buzzed more incessantly.

This is bad This is very, very bad.

"Alright, we can bring him in now," Francis called somewhere to Peter's left and Peter looked up. The room he's in was split in too, divided by a wall of glass. Peter's spent a good majority of his life hanging from glass windows, both cheap and expensive, and it looked to be the thick expensive kind.

The door on the other half of the room opened and Wade was shoved in. He was wearing his jumpsuit, like normal, but instead of the straitjacket his hands were bound together by a pair of enhanced looking cuffs. Immediately upon seeing him, Wade's eyes widened drastically, jaw falling. Peter flushed and looked down.

Of all the people in this damn organization, Wade was the last person he wanted to see like this.

He couldn't meet Wade's eyes. His body told him he was burning from his heat, but suddenly he felt very cold. The leather harness felt like ice on his skin, and it grated against the binds on his hands, keeping his arms tied back. His legs were mostly bound too. All he could do, if he tried, was hobble forward if he wanted to move.

Humiliation like nothing else coursed through his veins.

With every other alpha in this room, it felt like nothing but a faceless stranger he didn't know. A face he could glare and growl at. To punch and kick and beat to a pulp. But this was Wade. The one person in this hellhole that has shown him respect and treated him like a person with an actual opinion, despite their apparent differences in morality.

But bound in front of him, sweating from the baseline of his hair down to his toes, with a hard member, he felt all that respect wither away. Despite his wishes, small tears stung his eyes and Peter glared fiercely to the side, trying to hold them back. His increased hormones weren't helping.

He didn't need to see Wade to know he'd gone stock-stiff.

What was he thinking right now? What did he think of Peter like this. Seeing him tied up against his will, like some damn toy to be played with. It made Peter _sick_.

He didn't know what to expect from Wade, but only a short time passed before he smelled it. There must've been tiny holes punctured through the glass, designed for this kind of torture, because Peter smells rage.

Pure, unadulterated rage.

He hears Wade move forward, only he's not coming at Peter, he's storming up to the glass wall separating them, eyes fixated on Francis with a promise of bloody murder. "Let him go!" Wade demanded, "I swear to hell, Francis, let _him go_!"

Francis made of show of thinking about it by tapping his finger on his chin. "After we got him all dressed up for you?" He questioned innocently. "Where are your manners? I practically adorned him in a bow for you, Wilson. Some thanks you's are in order."

"Thanking you," Wade parroted, face pinched with anger. He slammed his fists into the glass, making it tremble, "Why should I be thanking you for putting a person through something like this? He's not a damn thing for you - or _anyone_ \- to play with. LET HIM GO! NOW!"

"I don't know," Francis moved a strand of Peter's hair out of his face and he flinched. His skin felt too hot. Too sensitive. "He looks like a fun thing to play with to me. Maybe I'll give him to one of my guards, then. As a treat."

Peter whisked up to glare at him, feeling his disgust and anger burn away his humiliation. Wait, not burn it. Fuel it. Stoke the fire of hate engulfing Peter from the inside out.

As if on cue, an alpha stepped forward. Peter recognized him. It was the same guard from the other day. The one whose nose he broke. Is this what he meant? Taking advantage of Peter while he was, bound and suffering under the illusion of a heat.

"Told you," he smirked as he stepped behind Peter, grabbing the base of his neck. With one hand he grabbed the leash dangling from the collar and gave it an experimental tug. In this position, he could easily push Peter down. His skin tingled where the alpha was touching him but it made Peter's stomach twist in disgust. His body was already naturally producing slick and it only made him angrier.

He wasn't a _thing_ to be passed around as they pleased. He wasn't a sex-object there to please anyone. And he wasn't going to be a "treat" to an alpha the way a bone was to a dog. Despite the fingers clasped around his neck, digging the collar into his skin, Peter pushed back. He pulled against his restraints, hardly feeling the pinch that dug into his wrist and made blood drip down his fingers.

The alpha laughed, "Eager little thing."

"You can stop this," Francis said toward Wade, "You know what Weapon X wants from you, Wilson. If you give us what we want, we'll spare your little omega."

Wade's face was pulled into a baring growl. But he hesitated. His eyes flickered down to Peter and his eyes softened. Peter shook his head. He'd be damned if he was going to be Francis's bargaining chip. What? Wade was going to give whatever it was it Weapon X wanted? Just like that?

Hell no.

But Francis could see Wade breaking, and he smiled. "Hurry, Wilson. I can't promise the restraint of these alphas for long. It's been a while since they've had something warm and wet."

The room laughed, more out of agreement than amusement. Poorly restrained amusement, teetering on desperate.

Peter growled. He was not going to play this role. He shifted, moving, pulling against his restraints. His body was alive with an anger far more intense than this heat. "I-"

The bindings broke under his strength.

"Am-"

Peter grabbed the chain and pulled it clear out of the ground, jumping to his feet.

"Not-"

He grabbed Francis by his neck and backhanded the guard with the chain.

"You're fucking-"

The guard hit the ground and he threw Francis into the glass wall.

"Object!"

The glass shattered under the force of the throw.

Peter tore the collar off with a sneer and threw it at Francis's slumped body on the other side of the room. He looked up at Wade, eyes burning with anger, and without watching, stopped a punch aimed for his face by another one of the guards. "We're getting out of here," he said, and crushed the guys wrist with a squeeze of his hand.

Wade's grin was back, but it wasn't soft. It was wide, angry, and maybe a little manic.

"Thought you'd never ask," he said.

"I'm not asking," Peter threw another one of the guards through the glass, making a bigger opening for Wade to step through.

Wade whooped, pumping his cuffed hands, "Hell yeah, we're not!" and stomped over the guards body for good measure, crunching glass under his weight, as he joined Peter's side. He held out his arms and Peter tore the cuffs off his hands. "And as much as those slobbering dogs are enjoying the view, I think we should find you some clothes."

Peter's eyes zeroed in on one of the guards near the door, "Him. He's my size."

"I've got the other three. Go shopping baby boy."

And shopping he did. It was easy to take the guard out, a fast punch to his temple and he was out cold. As Wade kicked another guard away, already having the other in a chokehold, Peter stripped the unconscious guard down, tore the leather straps off his own body, and put the guard uniform on in its place. By the time he was turning around, Wade had cleanly dealt with the remaining guards.

There was a gleam in his eyes Peter hadn't seen before. When he first saw that light, it was smaller, like smoldering coals on a cold winter day. But a fire had grown in its place. Roaring loud and madly, consuming like a flame to a dry prairie. It reminded Peter that he still knew so little about Wade and his past.

But that was an issue to deal with later, because Peter was still fucking pissed, and he wanted to hit something. Not to mention his hormones were going on over-drive thanks to the fancy cocktail Francis pumped into his systems, so he felt extra willing to punch a few teeth in. Wade picked up a gun from one of fallen alpha's, running his hands over it appreciate. Handling it as if it were a long-lost lover soiled from the hands of another.

Peter looked away, stomach tightening amidst the muck of his internal systems. There were more important things to think about. Like, how they were going to make it out of here in one piece. Wade would probably be fine, given his healing factor, but Peter could still die, and his body wasn't exactly pulling in his favor.

He could feel slick gathering on his thighs, and it was uncomfortable to feel. His body rumbled with tremors that shook his frame and made his hands shake. Whatever this fucking drug was it wasn't natural. It might have the same effects of a heat, but it didn't have the same ambiance of a natural heat. This was forced. Like adding gasoline to a flickering flame and watching the chaos that ensued.

Much like last time, there aren't loud alarms blaring. But when Peter glanced down at the uniform he now wore, a flashing light probed at him from the breast pocket. That's how they knew a patient had escaped. If alarms went off everywhere, it'd probably stir the other patients in a frenzy. Better to leave them in the dark under an illusion that no one could escape from this place.

The radio he had discarded was relaying a message, which Peter crouched to pick up and listen. "They're sending reinforcements," he said, hoarsely, tugging at the collar of his shirt. It was blazing hot.

"Let them," Wade grinned, smoothly checking the gun's clip. "I haven't had fun in a while."

Peter grimaced again. He didn't know how to feel about Wade's eager hands and excited eyes. On the one hand, he hardly had empathy to spare for these disgusting assholes of Weapon X. The things they've done and the harm they've caused. They deserved a little pain.

On the other hand, killing them still left a wad of gunk in Peter's chest. He didn't like it. They deserved to live out the rest of their days behind bars, where they couldn't harm anyone ever again.

Peter made a small noise when the tightening in his gut worsened, unable to tell if it was from his own philosophical discussion or the ever-growing turmoil in his body. Whatever it was, it drew Wade's attention from his newfound friend, and he walked over.

"Hey, you okay?" He sniffed the air lightly, eyes widening, "I wasn't sure if I was just smelling things at first but – but didn't you already have your heat?"

Peter nodded, taking deep breathe, "Yep. Had it. Hated it. Let it pass. But douchebag injected me something else. It's," Peter waved his hand, failing to grasp the words, "It's, like, pulling another heat out of me. It's," his body shook again, "Unpleasant," he finished through gritted teeth.

Wade growled under his breathe but looped an arm under Peter's shoulders to keep him upright. "Let's get you out of here."

"Let's get _us_ out of here," Peter corrected, "Don't pretend that this escape started just to get me out."

Wade's mouth turned upward, "I would never. C'mon, let's _both_ get outta here."

"Let's," Peter agreed.

He led Wade help him toward the door, before straightening himself out and shrugging off Wade's body. "We both need to be fully functional," he said as his only excuse, crouching next to the door frame. Wade took the opposite side, gun pulled up close as he prepared to open the door.

"There's going to be a lot of people waiting for us," Wade said, motioning toward their exit with his head.

"I'm counting on it," Peter replied, flexing in his fingers. Hell, how he wished he had his webshooters. What had Francis done with them, anyway? Hung them on the wall as a trophy? Dissected them to see how it was made? If time allowed it, he he'd have to see if he could snatch them back before they left.

His webshooters were to him as guns were to Wade. Just the idea of feeling on his wrists again gave him a panging sense of longing. He's always felt safe when he had his webshooters. He knew that no matter what, he'd always have the upper-hand with them on. He'd always have a way to keep the bad guys at bay.

"Alright," Wade got ready, "1…2…-"

"Wade," Peter interrupted, leaning over to grab his arm. Wade stiffened, following Peter's arm up to his face. "Don't kill anyone," Peter said, imploringly, " _Please_." The words tasted like vinegar on his tongue. It's not that he couldn't ask for things, but he found it to be a particularly vexing trial when he had to.

It's always been like that for him. It's why he learned things on his own as a kid. Why he wanted to build his own scent-blockers into his suit. Why he patrolled and roamed the streets on this own. He enjoyed the Avengers help to a point, but there was something about asking someone else to get involved that made Peter squirm.

And if he were being honest with himself, asking for help gave him an inborn sense of weakness. Like it was always going to come down to him relying on someone else. He liked doing things himself. It didn't just tell others that he could handle whatever life threw at him, but it reassured _him_ as well. His pride was built on his capability of tackling his problems with his own two hands and asking for assistance was like looking down at his hands and seeing nothing but slim, fragile fingers composed of thin glass. Something he thought had been sculpted through hard, tough diamond, only to reveal itself as something flimsy and breakable.

Wade stared down at Peter, eyes widening again, just for a fraction of a second before his expression went guarded. His eyes roamed over Peter's face, taking in the way his fist clenched at his side and his jaw tightened. The way Peter was almost glaring, not quite at the prospect Wade's violence, but because he'd been forced to ask.

"We'll see," Wade conceded, looking away, "There's a couple of them out there that deserved a bullet between the eyes, more so than the rest. But…" he took a breath, "I'll…do my best."

He sounded genuine. Sincere. That was all Peter could hope for. He knew it would be hard enough for Wade to let some of these bastards live. He could see it in the way his gripped his weapon in restrained aggression. The lines of his shoulders taut and coiled, like the spring in the gun. He let go of Wade's sleeve and repositioned himself on his side of the door. He nodded to Wade, who restarted their count-down.

"1…2…3!" The door swooshed open and they emerged.

Peter immediately took to the ceiling, swinging across it with his arms and dropping down on the guards waiting for them outside. Wade was firing off shots the moment he stepped into the hall. His grin was back, the idea of some good ol' violence pulling him from his grim demeanor, and only a few minutes into the fight he whooped loudly.

Wade's aim was impeccably. As they fought, Peter noticed that the bullet wounds were never fatal. They hit kneecaps and joints, missing main arteries. Only enough to leave them immobilized. Dodging the gun-fire was easier than normal, but that was due to Peter's over-sensitized senses. But keep him here too long, and they'd wouldn't give him the advantage for long.

Taking in a breath, he could smell every single alpha in the room, and there was no doubt they could smell him. At least that gave him a bit of an upper-hand. Most of these alpha's were probably pent up from lack of good partners to exchange with sexually. So, smelling an omega in heat had more than one of them turning to him when he got close. Which gave Wade an open shot at their back.

It was strange fighting with his body warring with itself. Slick was dirtying up the fabric around his thighs, sticking his pants to his legs in large, wet spots, and his body was only getting hotter the more he exerted himself. In no time Peter was sweating profusely. So much, that his fingers were beginning to slip on the walls. But that almost might've been due to the dizziness that had overtaken his brain.

Peter yelled in frustration when his focused slipped and punched a guard, knocking him out instantly. He kicked and punched and tackled, letting his rage for what Francis had done to omegas in this hellhole fuel him. He said Peter was the first omega he's tested the drug on, but how many more had he planned on doing this too?

Forcing a heat out of the bodies like a sick madman. Turning their own bodies against them for his own gain. It burned in him hotter than Peter's body temperature could ever reach.

Peter let Wade take the lead through the building. He didn't know where he was going, and even if he did, his body was getting tired and his mind fuzzy. He swayed whenever there were no more guards to fight, and tottered around, almost drunk when there was. If not for his spider-sense he was sure that they would've shot him by now.

Wade appeared next to him sometime in their battle, putting a quick hand to Peter's forehead. "Shit," he muttered, "We need to get you somewhere safe, Petey-Pie. You're burning up."

Peter couldn't find the words to respond with. Everything was so hot. His body ached. Burned. His stomach was so raveled in knots it pinched his gut whenever he tried to straighten up. All he could do was nod in agreement to whatever Wade said as Wade grabbed his hand and led them out.

It felt like an eternity. A mad slip of time that never ended. The guards kept coming, Peter kept fighting. The walls look the same. The stench of blood, alphas, and his own heat burned his nostrils. He didn't let himself stop despite the way his body begged him to. He knew if he did, the likely hood of him getting back up was little to nothing.

Then finally, like finding a pot of gold at the end of a long, grueling, bloody rainbow, they burst through another set of doors and a cool wind swept over Peter's arms. He made a noise, partway between a whine and a moan, and nearly dropped to his knees.

It felt so good. That blessed wind. The cool air. Like balm to his flushed skin, driving away the pain like a numbing solution. He grabbed it around him like a chilled coat, falling into its embrace. Welcoming it.

"Not yet, Peter," Wade whispered next to him, curling his arm under Peter's shoulder once more to keep him on his feet. "Just wait, okay. We've still got to go."

Peter wanted to scream in frustration. His body was on the verge of a meltdown. Every step sent a jab of pain to his core. His arms and legs trembled, and despite himself, he leaned into Wade's body, enjoying the weight it took off his feet.

"I recognize this place," Wade muttered, more to himself this time. "I think I know where we are. I've got a safehouse not too far from here," quieter he said, "How fucking ironic I lived barely a few blocks from Weapon X."

Peter didn't respond. He leaned more into Wade's body, panting heavily to get as much of the cool night air in his lungs as he could. The sweat chilled against his skin, gradually becoming more of a sting than a comfort. Why was it that both the heat and the cold had something against him?

Francis barely injected his body, what? 30 minutes ago? An hour? Yet it felt like he was close to reaching the peak of what a heat would be. His throat was so dry, like swallowing sand. Or glass. Or a combination of both that was equally unpleasant.

"I need water," he rasped, clutching Wade's jumpsuit to grab his attention, "I need-"

"I hear you, Petey. I hear you," Wade soothed. "I know this sucks ass, but wait till we're safe. I'll give you all the water you can drink."

That sounded nice.

He let Wade lead him away from the building, sweating in the cold dead of night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muahahahahah! They've finally made it out! Get ready for some R&R next to chapter, with Wade taking care of an indignant Peter and them both finally getting the answers they need.


	8. Pain, Pancakes, and Emotions - Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade was just full of surprises. Or, at least, he was good at breaking Peter's own biases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a NIGHTMARE – but it was a nightmare I enjoyed! :D
> 
> I love these two so much! 3 Here's the final chapter, ya'll. Hope you enjoy!

Peter managed to walk a block before everything started blurring together. With his body still propped against Wade's and his hand clutching the front of his shirt, he tried to blink the blurred lines mottling his vision, and when he couldn't, it took him a moment to realize it was because he was _crying_.

He hadn't registered the tears at first and only faintly wondered why his face felt suddenly colder against the night wind, and that the reason was clear, it made much more sense. In any normal circumstances, he would've been mortified right about now, but since his body turned on him, flushing with heat and pain with every step he took, he couldn't find the right mental functions to give a damn.

Everything hurt so much, and his body was relieving the stress the only way it knew how.

It didn't very long before he doubled over, groaning as his body pulsating hysterically. His arms curled around his stomach, where the ever-growing heat was most intense. He felt as though someone had filled his body with gasoline and dropped a lit match down his throat, the ensuing bonfire was eating him from the inside out.

Faintly, he registered Wade bending sideways and swinging him up into his arms, carrying him bridal style.

Another thing Peter would've been mortified with. In his right state of mind, he would've swat Wade on the head and told him he could walk himself. But in these circumstances, as soon as Peters' weight was off his feet, all he could do was sag into Wade's arm, unwilfully melting against Wade's frame like candlewax. He grabbed Wade's shirt more tightly, bunching it in his fingers and inciting a discreet ripping sound that made Wade glance down.

"You still here?" He felt the need to ask.

Peter tried saying something like, "Well, duh, where else would I be?" but all he could manage was another pained groan and despite Wade's blurred face, it looked like he was grimacing.

"We're almost there," Wade soothed, hugging Peter closer, and after that Peter couldn't register anything else. Buildings passed as obsolete blurs of color and the occasional splotch of black that might've been the silhouette of late-night citizens. Judging by the cool air that seemed as biting as a cold knife, and the dark ambiance around them, it was night-time. Aside from the splotchy light that must've been coming off street lamps, there were no other colors than black, grey, and blue.

Peter's body was an angry war, battling over something he couldn't even fathom. It felt as though he was melting in his own skin, filling out the husk of his body the way water did in a bottle. Only, in this case, the water was full of salt and his body was an open wound. The pain was most intense in his abdomen, but the scent glands on his neck and inner thighs were aching as they rapidly pumped out pheromones and slick. He wondered if he was leaving a scent trail in his wake, one that could be followed the way it did in cartoons.

A part of him felt like he should be concerned about that.

But another part couldn't care less. Slick was gathering thickly around his thighs and it was getting uncomfortable. Sweat infiltrated every nook and cranny of his body, but it seemed to do little to his temperature. He could hear his own gasping pants, and each one sounded like the rasp of an old air conditioner with rusty fans.

He didn't know how long Wade carried him, or where they were going, but sometime later he pulled out of his daze as Wade shifted him again. Something rattled at Peter's back and Wade took a step back, huffing in exasperation. A moment later he pulled Peter up closer and kicked something with his leg. A door burst open and they hurried into the room beyond.

The air was musty and smelled of dust. Peter coughed sharply when Wade lay him onto a couch and a mini dust cloud erupted from the cushions. Peter coughed again, trying to sit up to breath better, but just moving made him want to curl into a little ball and die.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry," Wade was whispering frantically, trying desperately to fan all the dust away before backing up with a deep breath. He held his hands out, as if to steady himself, and took another breath. When he opened his eyes, he looked considerably calmer, if but a little stiff. "I'm going to prepare the bed," he said, placing the back of his hand on Peter's forehead, checking his temperature, and Peter leaned into the touch. "I'll be right back."

He headed out of the room but paused just before entering a small hallway, and made a detour into what looked like an open kitchen. He scavenged loudly through the cupboards and fridge, before dropping a water bottle on the table next to Peter.

"Hydrate," he said and hastened into the next room.

Peter snatched the water bottle like a dying man, accidentally crushing the plastic in his hands and spilled water over him and the couch. But he didn't care. He gulped down whatever was left, draining it completely, and even when it was gone, he didn't drop the bottle. He was having trouble loosening his grip enough let it fall on the ground.

With the bottle clutched to his chest, he sagged back into the couch, turning to push his face into soaked part of the cushions, unsure if he was using it to cool his forehead or attempting to suck up the water stuck in its fibers. His throat was still dry as if the bottle had been full of dry sand, and his throat convulsed with another cough.

The dust probably didn't help.

Absentmindedly, he tugged at his shirt and pants, trying to loosen the sweat build up. He didn't intend to rip them off, but only a few seconds passed before he couldn't stand the feeling of the clothes and he tore them away with loud ripping noises that drew Wade to peek back inside.

He didn't say anything about Peter's choice of nudity, but shot him a quick, "I'm almost done," before disappearing again. Peter could hear him moving frantically in the other room as if Wade were only a few feet away. When he shifted on the couch, he could hear the scratch of fibers on his skin and the loud crackle of the plastic stuck in his grip, and it made him wince and grit his teeth.

Wade came in a small-time later, and without further ado, scooped Peter back up into his arms - gentler when Peter gasped and hissed at the feel of cloth on his skin - and carried him into the room he prepared.

The nest Wade had built was rough, messy, and looked only half done. Blankets were piled around a small bed, bunched into makeshift walls, with fuzzier blankets strewn on the bottom. There weren't many pillows, but the few that were present were placed in calculated areas and within arm's reach.

Wade set him carefully in the center of the nest and stepped back again, surveying the room as if searching for more things to add. The walls were bare and the windows covered with thick blackout curtains. The main light was off and the room was brightened by a lamp shoved in the corner. When nothing useful stepped forward, Wade gave an irritated growl and turned back to Peter, expression becoming earnest.

Peter was curled onto the bed now, shuddering and gasping. The blankets smelled musty from lack of use, but it was cleaner and comfier than the couch. It still felt like sandpaper to his skin but was considerably more tolerable. Wade shuffled anxiously at the edge of the nest, fingers wringing together before he suddenly shook his head with break-neck speed and exited the room, muttering cross things to himself like, "Can't believe you forgot - so damned stupid - get it together -."

He returned with water bottles and crackers. Peter lifted his head and grabbed the water bottles eagerly from Wade, only to crush them the same way he had done before. When he reached for another, Wade gently bat his hands to the side and opened the bottle for him, tipping it back so Peter could drink. Which didn't work out as he planned as Peter felt compelled to grab it and drink as much as he could, despite Wade's warning.

Sure enough, he barely managed to drink without choking, earning a distressed noise from Wade as he thumped Peter's back. Still, he picked up another bottle and tried again.

"Easy," Wade said, "Easy. There you go, just like that, we don't want you drowning yourself now."

Once Wade decided he had enough to drink, which admittedly made Peter upset and he tried to grab at the bottles anyway, Wade shoved a cracker into Peter's hand.

"You need to eat," he said, urging the crumbling food toward Peter's mouth.

Peter trembled like a soaked cat, eyeing the water bottles maliciously as if it were their fault Wade was forcing him to eat but gave the cracker a nibble. He got halfway through before he pushed Wade's hand away and grabbed for the water again.

"Thir'sy," Peter slurred. His hands shook so bad that when he picked up the bottle it fell from his grip.

Wade gently grabbed Peter's shoulders and lay him back down in the nest, propping him up enough so he could grab the bottle, unscrew it, and give Peter a drink. His grip remained steady even when Peter's hands latched onto the bottle too, and helped guide the water in with minimal spilling. When Peter finished drinking, he eyed another, and Wade gave him a chastising look.

"No," he said, "I think that's enough for now, Petey-wheaty. You're going to drink yourself sick at this rate."

"Was' it to you?" Peter grumbled, thinking that he should just grab the bottle himself, but just the thought of moving made his stomach twist. His mind was in such upheaval it took effort just to form a cohesive thought that wasn't punctuated with pain. Slick was getting everywhere on the blankets, but Peter didn't feel in the lease bit roused.

A niggling thought told him that wasn't the point. He wasn't supposed to.

He didn't _need_ to.

And for some reason that made him very mad.

Wade didn't answer Peter's question, but he did seem to catch on that the slick gathering on Peter's legs was annoying him, and grabbed a small blanket to clean him with. It was a small comfort, as slick only continued to trickle down once the blanket was removed, but Peter sighed nonetheless.

"I'm going to take care of you," Wade mumbled, but it was more to himself. Like a whispered promise meant just for him.

But Peter heard and growled, "Don' need you to take care' me." He had meant for it to come out strong and confident, but it crawled between his lips as a pained whispered, followed quickly by a moan of discomfort and he turned onto his side, curling up again.

Wade's presence was still there, and his voice was fond when Peter heard him whisper, "I know."

* * *

Hours passed. Or it could've been days. Peter wouldn't have been able to tell even with the blackout curtains had been pulled aside. However long he lay on the bed, curling and squirming as his inhale was grafted with hot, acidic pain, the agony didn't lessen.

Through every whimper, grunt, and convulsion, he wondered if he'd be like this for days. Heats normally lasted between 2 and 3 days, and he abhorred the idea of living like this for more than another minute.

On the occasion that he could use his mental skills again, his thoughts lingered on the hellish drug Francis gave him, and when he wasn't cussing the bastard out in his head (or verbally, sometimes he couldn't tell), he was griping and groaning and doing his best to take this horrible ordeal head-on. But this wasn't like the pain he got in patrols, or even in super-mega villain fights.

Most of that pain was external and blunt. Cuts. Bruises. Broken ribs. Sprained wrists. rolled ankles. Injuries he could fix with bandages and painkillers.

But this pain was on a whole new playing field. It pulsated in his stomach, made the skin around his scent glands inflamed and achy. His body was so sweaty it came off him in beads and rivulets, with a body temperature so high he could fry an egg on his forehead. Even the gland that helped produce the slick was aching as his body tried to mass-produce what it was quickly running out of. His real heat barely happened days ago, and his body was a rough jerk and grind like a bunch of frantic, busted gears trying to work together.

In the end, there weren't enough pheromones stored, nor slick produced, and it was driving his body to madness trying to mass create it all over again.

For the most part, all he could do was curl around one of the pillows, clutch it tight to his chest, and wait out each new wave of heat and pain with panting breaths and sharp-intakes.

Where Peter was getting worse and worse, Wade's behavior got increasingly worried. Most of the time, Peter could see his pacing figure through the corner of his eyes. Wade was muttering argumentatively to himself, ringing his fingers violently together and shaking his head like an upset animal.

He spent most of his time either helping Peter drink, encouraging him to eat, or rubbing his back soothingly when the pain got too bad.

Occasionally, as he paced, he'd sniff the air in Peter's direction, make a strange, worried whine in the back of his throat, and fret over Peter till it was evident there was nothing else he could do, and the cycle repeated.

Peter knew why.

It wasn't just because he was in pain. There was something legitimately wrong. Omega's were supposed to smell appealing in a heat. Aroused. Sensual. Healthy.

And he smelled the exact opposite. His scent was thick with pain and nausea. No doubt he looked gross and sickly too. His body was not welcoming the idea of a warm body to copulate with, but folding in on itself, withdrawing from all contact. His skin felt punctuated with needles wherever it touched the blankets or pillows, so every position was no better than the last.

Wade was pacing like a worried mate, unsure how to help his partner.

Despite himself, Peter's muddled mind lingered on the word "mate." It didn't spark indignant or scorn like it would have. Instead, it drew a soft yearning, keening sound from his throat. Right now, a mate sounded safe, and nice, and pleasant. Someone to keep the pain away. His thoughts drifted to Wade when the word came to mind and he did something he would've kicked himself for if the circumstances were different.

He weakly reached out for the pacing man, calling a weak, "Wade..." and instantly Wade was there, looking over him anxiously.

"Yes?" He said, almost desperately, "What is it? What do you need?"

Peter didn't know how to voice this idea of safe and protected, so he grabbed Wade's wrist and pulled him down, wrapping his arms and legs around the alpha like he was a drowning man and Wade was the only lifejacket.

Instantly, Wade stiffened, but Peter ignored it in favor or nestling desperately into his body. The chemical secreting from Wade's skin was like a healing balm. All alphas naturally produced it when an omega was in heat, more so when they were in rut as well, but it was enough to drill into Peter's brain that he was _not_ going to let go.

His relief overrode the sudden influx of Wade's scent.

"Uh…Petey," he mumbled, voice strained as if he'd spent the time pulling at his own vocal chords. "You gotta let go of me. I know you're not in your right mind, so this isn't really your fault. Francis's drug is screwing with your body, but I don't think this is a good idea."

"Makes the pain go 'way," Peter mumbled into Wade's shoulder, clutching him tighter, afraid that Wade would pull away and he'd be left to stew in his agony again.

"I know," Wade mumbled in a way that suggested _he_ was in pain, "But you're gonna hate yourself afterward, so maybe we should with-hold on the hugging. Yeah?"

Well, that didn't make much sense. Why would he hate himself for hugging Wade? Especially when it made him feel better. Wade was being silly.

So he snuggled in closer and Wade made a noise that made Peter pause.

He glanced up, forcing himself to ignore the pain, if just for a moment, and focused on Wade. The other man was drawn tight and completely motionless. He had his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw was tight. This time, Peter focused on Wade's scent instead of ignoring it.

Somewhere in there it said he was at ease. Content. Happy.

But the smell of his discomfort was far stronger.

Something in Peter's brain clicked and he realized, _this is wrong_. Wade didn't want this close contact – not really. It was making him uncomfortable. _Peter_ was making him uncomfortable. A sick feeling emptied in Peter's stomach and he unwound himself from Wade and put a distance between them, curling around the pillow nearby instead.

"Sorry," he mumbled into it, "Shouldn't have done that."

He heard Wade sit up and let out a breath, "It's alright," and that made Peter feel _worse_. He just pushed passed Wade's boundaries without a care for how that made Wade feel.

He was acting like any other pushy alpha. The ones he always ranted about it.

"M'sorry," he repeated, feeling more miserable than before. As if it might help, he scooted away from Wade and decided that he'd go through the rest of this faux heat alone. He shouldn't have put Wade in that position, and he'd be damned if he was going to let it happen again.

Wade hesitated at the end of the bed. Although Peter couldn't see him, he could sense him. His presence was like a heavy blanket.

But after a moment Wade gave a small sigh and got up. Peter heard him leave the room and figured that was probably for the best. He didn't want something like that happening again and they both needed their space now.

He turned his back to the door and nibbled miserably on the crackers Wade left behind.

* * *

The pain carried on for so long, Peter was sure that Galactus could be attacking and he wouldn't give a shit. He reached the peak of his "heat" a little while after the incident with Wade, and it was the most unbearable experience in his entire life.

The pain got so bad he couldn't even contain it to quiet groans and ended up nearly sobbing into the nest, limbs shaking uncontrollably with a near unhealthy red flush over his entire body. Eventually, his cries brought Wade back into the room and his fretting returned ten-fold. He got ice-packs from the fridge and kept switching them out to keep Peter cool. He placed cold rags over Peter's forehead and mopped up the sweat drenching Peter's body.

When his treatments started to wane, he left the room again. Subconsciously, Peter could hear water rushing in the bathroom. Sometime later Wade returned and slithered his arms under Peter's legs and back, which only resulted in Peter shying away with a sharp hiss.

His senses were on over-drive and the feel of Wade's clothes was like sheet of woven barbed wire gouging his skin. To solve this, Wade discarded his shirt and tried again. The chemical secreting from him was like an elixir of life and Peter clung to him this time, leaning into Wade's skin as much as possible. The scars it a rough texture.

The skin-to-skin contact staunched the pain, only a little, but he was pretty sure he was crying from the bliss of relief. However small it was.

Wade carried him into the bathroom, where the tub had been filled. He carefully lowered Peter into the cool water and Peter hissed. But it was a beautiful, blissful feeling that contrasted the wild heat crackling under his skin. He pried his fingers from Wade's shoulder, faintly remembering his promise to himself, and sank into the water, taking in deep breathes.

His voice was far to hoarse and weak for use, and he wasn't sure how to convey for Wade to stay with him. He didn't want to be alone with himself. Thankfully, Wade was going nowhere. He situated himself against the tub, periodically feeling Peter's forehead to check his temperature and rambling about anything that came to mind.

It was soothing to hear Wade talk, though Peter didn't understand a word of what he was saying.

Regardless, it was familiar, and the rough gravel of his voice calmed him considerably.

The peak broke later that night.

* * *

When Peter woke up, he was back in the nest.

He peaked out of the fuzzy blanket he'd wrapped around himself, groggy and feeling miserable. His muscles and joints ached from all the tension and shaking, and just moving felt like rusted joints grinding together.

He made a mournful noise in the back of his throat and slumped into the blankets, dozing lightly.

A low heat still simmered in his gut, but it was far more bearable than it had been before. His scent glands were easing up to and the slick had stopped running down his thighs.

He was finally coming down from the faux heat, which was fantastic because he felt like he just spent an eternity in hell.

After a couple of minutes of snoozing, he tried moving again and sat up. The blackout curtains were still drawn around the window, and the lamp had been turned off, making the rooms only source of light a unicorn night-light plugged in across the room. Peter tugged one of the curtains aside to peek outside.

A dull, gray building was his view, but farther up he could see a glimpse of the sky. It was daybreak, at least. He wondered if his heat lasted only the night, or if he'd been confined to that torture for more than a day.

He let the curtain fall back into place and hugged the blanket around his shoulders tighter. And to think, Francis planned on giving that to him back at Weapon X, chained to a floor. It was hardly bearable on a bed, surrounded by blankets, so it would have been a nightmare to experience it in the cells Francis kept him in.

And the alphas. Peter shuddered. They probably would've fucked him regardless of how he was feeling, or how he smelled. He was lucky to get out of there when he did. IF he had waited, he wouldn't have been able to wipe the slick from his thighs, much less throw a punch at any alpha going for a taste.

The very thought made Peter want to puke, but he shuddered again instead. There was hardly anything left in his stomach to puke.

In fact, he was feeling kind of hungry.

He looked around and saw a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt folded at the end of the bed, and Peter crawled toward them. He rubbed the fabric around in his hands. It was kind of nice, but the idea of putting on clothes again, even now with his faux heat receding, didn't sound appealing.

Instead, he wrapped the fuzzy blanket around his body and shuffled toward the door, stopping only to use another blanket to wipe away the remainder of the slick. Once clean, he peaked out into a small hallway and shuffled down that too, turning into the living room Wade set him in when they first arrived. It looked considerably cleaner than Peter remembered, but he hadn't really been paying attention before.

Wade was in the kitchen cooking like a mad man.

Peter wondered if he was an anxious baker, due to the heaps and heaps of pancakes collecting on the table and countertops. Some had blueberries, some had chocolate chips, and they all smelled heavenly.

Wade didn't notice him at first, as he was bent over a bowl, mixing the contents ferociously. His hairless eyebrows were tucked close in concentration and his lips set in a grim line.

Peter took a few steps closer and got to the end of the table.

Surprisingly enough, Wade still hadn't noticed him.

So he cleared his throat and said, "You know, there's a mixer right over there."

Wade jolted and turned, lips pulled into a snarl and his spoon poised as if for an attack. But as soon as his eyes fell on Peter, the snarl slipped from his lips and his eyes widened.

"Peter?" He asked, as if unsure if it was truly him standing awkwardly next to the table.

"Yeah," Peter mumbled, going up to rub his neck before remembering to keep a tight hold on his blanket. "It's me. In the flesh."

Wade stood frozen for half a second before he dropped the bowl on the table and rounded on Peter. "How are you feeling? You good? Do you need anything?"

"No, no I'm fine," Peter said, bunching the blankets around him as Wade surveyed him in concern.

For the first time, Wade seemed to realize Peter was only wearing a blanket and he quirked an eyebrow, "Oh, I - uh, could've sworn I left you some clothes."

"You did," Peter said, flushing slightly, "It's just -" he hesitated, "I'm not really ready to - uh, wear them yet. Still feeling a little sensitive."

Wade nodded and slapped his head as if he should've realized that, "Right, sorry - should've known you'd still be feeling like that. Wilson, you idiot," he said that last part more to himself and returned to the bow he'd been mixing.

"Still, thank you," Peter said, "That was really...nice, of you. You're not an idiot, okay. It's fine."

Silence followed and Peter fidgeted. It felt good to stretch his legs after being cramped for so long, but he was still feeling shaky and uneasy. He hesitated by the single chair perched by the table, unsure if he should just sit or ask first. Wade just spent the last hours - day? - taking care of him when he could've easily dumped his ass on the first street corner and ran as far from Weapon X as possible.

He hesitated still and gestured loosely to the chair even though Wade had his back to him as he filled the griddle on the counter with more pancake mix.

"C - can I sit here?"

Wade glanced over his shoulder, "Yeah, of course. I mean, you probably should, you look a little pale and shaky, so go ahead and sit your kiester right on there. You hungry by the way? I made some pancakes."

Peter took the seat as Wade rambled and at the mention of pancakes his stomach grumbled lowly. He felt guilty for impeding on Wade already and asking for pancakes seemed almost like over-staying his welcome. _But_ he was so blasted hungry, he was almost sure he was drooling a little when he said in a hurried rush, "Yes, please."

A second passed and a stack of warm pancakes stopped in front of Peter, followed by a fork and some syrup. If Peter wasn't drooling before, he definitely was now.

His stomach felt a little nauseous, but as soon as he started chewing it was as if a cage inside him had broken and a ravenous beast burst from the shadows. He scarfed down the pancakes in fervish, barely pausing to inhale, and when Wade turned back around after flipping out the pancakes, he actually looked surprised to see Peter finishing off the last pancake on his plate.

A grin cracked his face and he quickly exchanged the empty plate for a full one. Peter barely remembered to say thank you before he was diving back in again.

Oh, when was the last time he ate something this good? It's been far too long, and his superhero metabolism was at its wits end from the abuse it's taken. He didn't think there was anything that tasted as amazing as those pancakes did in that moment.

By the time Peter was finishing his third plate, Wade started to show reluctance.

"If you eat too much too soon, you're going to make yourself sick," he said, holding the fresh pancakes out of reach of Peter's hands.

I'm be fine," Peter insisted.

"Nope, the only reason I let you eat as much now is because your superhuman and you need to eat more."

Peter pouted, though he knew it was true. If he had been any normal person, he probably would've thrown up by now. Especially because of his body still recovering from two heats within a span of a few days. Wade made sense and it was his logic that had Peter grumbling and leaning back in his chair, arms folded.

Wade smirked and turned to turn the griddle off. "Might want to close your blanket," he added over his shoulder and Peter looked down, realizing his blanket had indeed fallen open and quickly clamped it shut again.

"Ha, ha," he deadpanned, but leaned back into his chair. He wasn't feeling riled. The beast inside had been sated and he was feeling rather calm. His body was gradually cooling down, and although his scent glands still ached, at least they weren't trying to pump out pheromones anymore.

He rubbed his neck absent-mindedly, lingering on the glands as he massages them lightly. They were swollen to the touch and burned under his fingertips, but it was better at least.

Wade finished cleaning up his mess and leaned back against the counter, shoveling pancakes into his own mouth.

"Must you chew so loudly?" Peter asked before he could check himself. He was trying to be a polite house-guest, considering everything Wade has done for him as of late. But noisy-chewing was high on his pet-peeves list. Wade smiled ruefully, not even looking up from his food as he cut another piece from his pancake.

"Mmmmmm, yes." He decided, munching noisily again, "Chewing loudly means I enjoy my food and pancakes is the food for the gods. They'd be offended if I didn't show my admiration."

"It's gross," Peter emphasized, "I don't need to hear everything going on in your mouth – oh shut up, that's not what I meant," he laughed when Wade waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Ha, you wish that's what you meant," Wade said, mouth full, and Peter crinkled his nose.

"That doesn't even make sense."

" _You_ don't make sense."

"C'mon, for someone called 'Merc with a Mouth' I'd expect you to have better comebacks than _that_."

Wade looked up from his plate, eyes glinting, "I don't know, _Spidey_ , do you think you can keep up?"

Peter went stalk-stiff. He'd never told Wade that he was Spider-Man, it was something he kept close to the chest, even at Weapon X. Though, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised after Wade saw him fighting the way he did. Running along ceilings and walls, it was probably obvious.

He sagged in his chair, rubbing his face lightly, "When did you figure it out?"

"I had suspicions that you were a hero long before we got out," Wade admitted, putting his plate to the side and crossing his arms, "Nobody with powers and that much moral high-standing could resist turning to the tights. But it was that last fight that _really_ told me which one you were."

"Jumping and running on the ceilings," Peter nodded, sighing again. "Yeah, I don't blame you for figuring it out."

"And Angel called you Spider-Man when we first tried to escape, so that was a dead giveaway."

Peter laughed tiredly into his hands, "Stupid Weapon X," he said, "Can't even keep a secret. Worse shady organization ever."

"I'd drink to that," Wade tapped his fingers against his forearms absentmindedly.

A tense silence followed and Peter tugged the blanket tighter around him, but forced himself to look over at Wade, "So…what now?"

"What now." Wade repeated, "That is a question."

"That it is."

"….."

"…."

When the silence got too thick, Wade pushed himself off the counter and busied himself with cleaning up the mess he made. Peter moved to help him, but Wade gestured for him to stay sitting, insisting that he was a guest and to sit his ass down or else Wade was going to take his blanket, as he dumped dishes into the sink.

Peter watched him work silently. He was surprised Wade could cook so well.

Well, he could cook pancakes at least. Cooking was thought of as an "omega" skill, unless it was as a career, and Peter found that few alphas really knew how to make food. He, personally, was shit at cooking. He's burnt too many casseroles for Aunt May to trust him by an oven unattended.

Wade was just full of surprises. Or, at least, he was good at breaking Peter's own biases.

Now that Peter thought of it, nesting before a heat was considered an omega trait too.

A key instinct in reproductive habits between alpha's, beta's, and omega's was that they all shared a desire to nest and build something safe to stay in. But it was an old stereotype that omega's were obsessed with it. He's read trashy novels of omega's compulsively nesting for their alpha's in hopes that they'd be "claimed" and all that shit.

The fact that Wade had built a nest for _him_ made something warm bloom in his chest, and he didn't think it was because of his faux heat.

"How long was I…" 

"Two days," Wade said.

Peter had been like that for two days. Damn, it felt like so much longer. If he didn't have Wade to help him, he wasn't sure if he would've made it out as unscathed as he did.

"Thank you," Peter blurted before he could think of a better approach, "for helping me through…that. I don't think I could've made it without you, so….thank you."

"Ah, I'm sure you would've figured something out if I hadn't been there," Wade said easily, "But you're welcome. Glad to help. Yes, you may repay me in chimichanga's, but I also take tacos."

Peter gave a weak smile, but he wasn't done just yet. "And…I'm sorry."

Wade went still.

Peter hated apologizing. He was expected to apologize so often in his life, that he's gotten to the point that apologizing felt like admitting defeat in its own way. But Wade deserved this, and Peter needed to give it to him.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "I…remember, during that heat, that I had grabbed you, and…and you were uncomfortable, and I didn't care at the moment, and…and I'm really sorry about that. I keep complaining how much alpha's force themselves on people and I had done the same thing to you, and," _and it makes me feel sick to my stomach._ He took a deep breath, "and I'm really sorry for putting you in that position"

Wade was still frozen, back turned, and didn't say anything at first. Then, he admitted quietly, "It's not that was…uncomfortable. If anything, I felt kind of, sort of…guilty."

Peter cocked his head to the side, squinting, "What do you mean?"

Wade rubbed his neck, "I – I mean….my touch was helping and – er, I mean, the _chemical_ my skin was producing was helping, and I wanted to….to help, you know. But you were drugged and not in your right mind, and…and I knew you wouldn't want to if you could think straight, and I didn't want to take advantage of you like that. It's okay, Petey. That drug was messing with you, so it wasn't really your fault."

Peter couldn't help but disagree. He had still crossed a line. He had made Wade uncomfortable an dput him in a position he didn't want to be in. But he could admit that Wade's argument had it's points. He hadn't been in his right mind and it warmed him to know that Wade was a good enough person to avoid taking advantage of him like that. He wouldn't have wanted such close contact if he was in his right mind.

Or…at least he didn't think he would.

When Peter really thought about it, it wasn't immediate repulsion or anger to the idea of Wade touching him like that. In fact, it kind of sounded like…well, the opposite of bad. It sounded nice.

He roughly shook his head, shaking off every and all of those feelings.

"Still," he muttered, "Thank you."

"Your welcome."

After a moment of watching Wade distract himself, Peter stood up. "I'm gonna go get dressed now."

"Okie dokie ardichokie," Wade hummed, shooting him a thumbs up. "Clothes are on the bed, but if they look like trash or have any gross stains – I don't think I gave you gross ones, but I don't know, sometimes I space out – then you can find some more in the dresser. Just don't look in the top drawer – that's where I put all my sexy fun stuff."

Peter knew Wade was just rambling, but he stilled flushed a bright red and quickly scurried out of the room so Wade couldn't see.

He did find the clothes left out for him, and despite Wade's worrying, they were not stained or gross. Peter rubbed the fabric between his figures with an appreciative hum. The fabric was soft to the touch – probably specially designed. He knew a few supers who had custom-made clothes for any particular ailments or discomforts brought on by their superhero activities. Peter himself had designed his own type of underwear to use in his suit so he didn't have to go around commando or worry about is undies showing through.

Wade must've made this for his skin. That many healing and interchanging scars were bound to make him sensitive to touch.

Peter dropped the blanket and eagerly swapped it out for the sweatpants and t-shirt. His skin was still a little tingly, but it was bearable. The clothes were a bit baggy on him though, thanks to their differences in stature. Peter was mature enough to admit that Wade was a bit taller and thicker than he was, and it was clearly evident in the X-Large clothes Wade wore.

Then again, Peter wondered if Wade got extra baggy clothes because of his skin too.

Now properly covered, Peter picked up the blanket and folded it neatly on the end up of the bed. He looked over at the nest built out of blankets and pillows – thick with the stench of sweat, slick, and puke (he recalled puking at one point, it was terrible) – and Peter was stuck between a smile and a grimace.

He wasn't sure if there was any saving those blankets. Wade might have to put them out of their misery and just toss them into an inferno.

Still, he had gone out of his way to make that for _Peter_. A nest he would safely spend that hellish nightmare in, however rushed it was. Wade didn't have to put that much effort. He could've tossed Peter on the bed, or stuck him in the bathroom, and let him wither out the hours without staying by his side, making sure he ate and drank, and cleaning him up when he was in too much pain to do it himself.

But he did stay, and Peter didn't know how to feel about that.

Or, correction, he had several feelings on the matter, and he wasn't sure which one applied for the given situation. Instead of trying to unravel that knot, he patted the folded blanket once, nodding to himself and turned to the door.

The one clear thing was that he and Wade needed to have a talk.

Because as much as Wade had done for him, there were things Peter couldn't ignore. Wade was also Deadpool, and Peter happened to be Spider-Man. Their moralities alone bashed heads like two angry bulls. They needed to have a chat about what they were doing next.

When Peter returned to the kitchen, Wade had gotten most of the mess cleaned, but had abandoned the half clean pile of dishes in the sink to hastily rummage around the living room, dusting off couch cushions, straightening the tables, and discarding bits of trash.

He was muttering to himself harshly, in a somewhat confused, exasperated manner, "-won't matter how clean it is…won't work…place is fucking filthy…what will he think?..."

Rather than sneaking up on him like last time, Peter made his presence known by clearing his throat loudly. Wade straightened, halfway through with stuffing on of the cushions on the couch. "Hey – hi," he said, quickly tossing it in its place, "So you found some clean ones then? Are they, uh, comfy enough?" He gestured to the clothes.

Peter pinched the fabric between his fingers, pulling it slightly as he looked down at his apparel. "Yeah," he said, "They're probably the softest clothes I've ever worn."

Wade's shoulders sagged in relief, "Oh, good. Good, good, good. I thought you might still be a little sensitive so I brought out the softest badasses I own."

Peter laughed, but wrung his fingers nervously in the hem of the shirt, "Softest badasses, aye? You talking about yourself?"

Wade snorted. His arms moved nervously around like he didn't know where they should go. They fell on his hips, folded over his chest, dangled at his sides, before he folded them again and kicked the carpet, eyes trained on his feet.

_Definitely the softest badass I've ever seen,_ Peter mused silently.

But his smile slipped just as quickly, and he inhaled, "Uh, Wade, we need to talk."

Wade's shoulders sagged again, but this time it seemed more like a heavyweight than relief. He nodded several times, pursing his lips and clicking his tongue. "Okay, yeah. Figured we'd end up there. I mean, if I had a dime for every time I heard _that_ sentence, I wouldn't need to unalive for a living," he winced, as if picking up where the conversation was heading, "Seems like this was coming, so I guess," he gestured to the couch, "have a seat, Pete. Let's hear what's going on in that head of yours."

Peter sat on the couch as Wade took the armchair.

Peter didn't let the silence stretch between them, so he went with a band-aid approach. Just ripping that motherfucker off and dealing with the consequences that followed.

"First off, I need to know one thing," he stated, "now that you know my real name, and that I'm Spider-Man, what do you plan on doing with it?"

Wades' head recoiled as if Peter had slapped him with a shoe, nose crinkling and eyebrows pinching, "Whatya mean by that?"

"I _mean_ , is there something you were going to do with it? Auction it off? Sell it to the highest bidder? Blackmail me into turning a blind eye? I would like to know about these things _before_ they happen."

Wade sputtered incoherently for a moment before he managed, "Of course not! Why would I do that?"

"Why _not_? I've heard a lot of things about you and none of them are very pretty."

Wade's scowl got darker, "Was that a jab at my face?" He demanded, and it was Peter's turn to sputter, "Because you can do a hell of a lot better than that! If you're gonna insult me, at least make it a solid burn and none of this sleight-of-hand shit."

"I wasn't-"

"And you know what, I just let you rub off all over my bed, and somehow you still think I'm going to go sell your hide to the first motherfucker I come across? Because of some _rumors_ you've heard about me, granted they may or may not be true – I don't know what new stories have circulated during my vacay."

Peter flushed. He wouldn't exactly call the last 24 hours 'rubbing off,' but since he had more important things to address, he let it slide for now.

"No, that's not –" he started to lie, but caught himself.

He wasn't going to lie to Wade's face. For one, Wade would see right through it anyway. Peter had a sense that Wade could spot bullshit from a mile away – whether he chooses to ignore it was up to him. Secondly, they just spent the last few months incarcerated with each other, having _literally_ spent a heat/rut together. Lies and sugar-coating were far past them at this point. Besides, they both deserved to have all their cards on the table, no matter how harsh or honest.

"Yes," he said instead-but held his hand up when Wade opened his mouth angrily, " _Yes_ , but that's because I don't know Deadpool. I know you, _Wade_ , but only what I've learned in Weapon X. I've heard rumors about Deadpool, and none of them pull in your favor or paint you as trustworthy. I don't even know that much about Wade Wilson as it is."

"But," Peter continued, "I… _do_ feel like I can trust you….the Wade part of you, that is. I don't know about the Deadpool part and that…it really makes me nervous," he admitted, "So I need to know what you plan on doing my secret identity, right here, right now, whether its bad or not."

With each spoken word, Wade's glower eased into something more expressionless. Guarded. The same expression he wore when he realized Peter was a superhero and not just a poor, super-powered sap who was down on his luck. The look of someone who didn't quite trust what was being fed to him.

Peter supposed that's exactly how he was acting too.

"I don't plan on throwing your identity to the highest bidder," he said bitterly when he finally answered. "I may be a disgusting bastard, but I'm not going to be the disgusting bastard that outs _Spider-Man._ " He crossed his arms huffily, "And what about you, huh?"

"Me?"

"You know I'm Deadpool. You know about one of my safe houses. What are _you_ going to do? Blab it to your Avenger friends? Tattle on me to SHIELD? What's _your_ end game, _Peter_?"

That was harsh.

And to be honest, valid as fuck.

Every piece of logic drilled into Peter's brain told him he _should_ report Deadpool to the Avengers and let them sort this out. Wade was a mercenary with hundreds of kills under his belt, he was high on SHIELD's wanted list last Peter knew, and he was free after being imprisoned and tortured in a shady organization for who-knows-how-long.

Still, despite all that – despite every reason Peter had to turn this in – he was completely sincere when he said without a moment's hesitation, "I'm not going to say a word."

Because regardless of everything Peter's heard about Wade, he had his own personal experiences that greatly tipped the scale. Wade had shown him nothing but compassion and respect while they were in captivity. He had killed some of the people working on Weapon X, that was true, but those fucks had also been torturing them both for months. A lot of those fucks had touched Peter, ran their hands over his body, whispered gross things in his ear, and intended on _raping_ him if given the chance.

Peter wouldn't have killed them, personally. He would've broken several bones and given them a beating of a lifetime – make them never forget where their actions got them - but he also couldn't find any true vindication towards Wade's actions, other than a small ache that came every time he saw someone die.

It was a spaghetti mess, with his morality, logic, and emotions spilling over and intertwining in a gross, twisting pile. But for now, that was all he could unpack.

He would not turn Wade over to the Avengers to be put into another cell.

His sincerity must've shown because a look of surprise crept onto Wade's face, and he leaned back in his chair, blinking wide, "Oh…"

Peter nodded, more to himself, and forced himself to relax against the couch. He went as far as tucking his feet under him to fit more snugly in his corner. "Now that we got that more or less established, we need to figure out a plan of action."

"Plan of action?" Wade raised a bald eyebrow.

"Well, yeah. Weapon X is still out there. We've got to do something about."

" _We_?"

Peter stilled, blinking owlishly, before crossing his arms and masking the sudden disappointment in his chest with a look of ease, "Er, just me, I guess," he corrected, "Shouldn't have assumed anything. I guess _I'll_ need to figure out a plan of action."

"No, no, no," Wade said, waving his hand around as if to swipe away Peter's half-hearted correction, "I mean, you don't mind that we're a 'we?' Like, me and you? Fighting Weapon X? Together? Us? Spider-Man and Deadpool?"

Peter inclined his head, "Well…yeah," he admitted, "I mean, we – we got out together, didn't we? We kicked ass and took names. Besides, I just figured that after everything they've done to you, you might want a little justice, and I figured we could at _least_ tip the Avengers off for a little assistance, cause they're pretty good at this sort of thing – and why are you smiling like that?"

Wade shook his head, halfheartedly covering his wide grin with a hand as his eyes gleamed, "What your saying is, we make a good team?"

"We…did work well together," Peter said slowly, eyes narrowing, "But what has that got to do with anything?"

Wade shrugged unconvincingly, "Oh nothing," he said, "I mean, Deadpool and Spider-Man. Total Bff's on the field. The Merc with a Mouth and the Friendly Neighborhood Web-Slinger."

"I wouldn't call us Bff's just yet," Peter snorted.

" _Yet,"_ Wade said, pointing at him with a smug finger, "You just said yet. Does that mean I have a chance to win the spider's favor? Besides, we spent our heat and rut together? That _can't_ land me in the acquaintance column. I'm at least the dashing stranger whom you think of every cold rainy night when you're lonely and nostalgic, wishing for something more."

Peter pursed his lips, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "Well, I guess we're well past the acquaintances. Though you're _definitely_ not the dashing stranger whom I long for – I think Dare Devil has that title."

"Pfft, it's always the bad boys," Wade grumbled, slouching grumpily.

"So, I guess that makes us allies then. Partners. How does that sound?"

"Partners." Wade repeated, as if tasting the word, "Sounds like fun."

That made something pleased and happy purr in Peter's chest.

"But," Wade added, and the happy feeling dissipated some, "We can't call in the Avengers. They take one look at me and _poof_ , I'm back in some underwater cell in a straitjacket. Or _worse_ , I'm in a mental hospital in a straitjacket, and my "doctor" has the hots for me and goes in a murdering spree in my name."

Peter blinked several times, taking that odd scenario in, "That sounds kind of specific."

"Eh, might've happened to me at one point, but sometimes it's hard to remember what's real and make-believe. Like, even you," he gestured to Peter, "For the longest time I didn't even know you were _real._ Like, not really real. You could've been the product of my brain running on its last fumes. You know, like some kind of guardian angel sent to help me out or some shit. Only, I know no guardian angel would sign themselves to me, so maybe you're a guardian devil? Point is, I wasn't even sure you were real for a while there, and even now sometimes I'm like, 'is he though?' because you still seem cool with me, and that doesn't usually happen, laddy."

It was very clear that Wade was rambling at this point, but Peter clung to every word.

So what he was saying is that for a while in their imprisonment, Wade wasn't even sure if Peter existed? Was that why Wade had been so aloof at first?

"Um, okay," Peter said, "Well….okay, uh…" How does someone respond to that? "Ho- how about this," he leaned forward a little, "Uh, can you usually feel it? Your figments of imagination? Like, if you tried to touch them, would you feel them?"

Wade shrugged heavily, looking suddenly stuck between flustered and uncertain, "They – they don't usually want to touch me," he admitted quietly.

"So, if _I_ touched you, would you believe I'm real?"

"Petey-Pie, you can _touch_ me however you want."

Peter knew Wade was just deflecting to ease himself, and he could see his own coping habits to bluntly it felt like a slap in the face. No wonder MJ always looked exasperated when she tried to talk "feelings" with him. "No, I _want_ your permission. Is it alright if I touch you?"

A soft, almost vulnerable look crossed Wade's face and it made Peter's heartache.

"It's okay if you don't want me to, Wade. I won't push you."

"But…but would if I can't feel you?" Wade whispered, "And you're not really here? Would if I imagine this whole thing? It – it would be the first time, and I…I don't think I could handle it this time, Petey."

"Wade," Peter got up from the couch, "We snuggled back at Weapon X," he sat on the table in front of Wade, "You carried me here cause I couldn't walk on my own," he set his hand on the armrest of Wade's chair, not persistent, but inviting, "You looked out for me while Francis's drug fucked me up."

At the mention, Wade's eyes darkened, and his fist clenched where they were pressed tightly against his legs.

"I can tell you with certainty that I'm _here_ , but what do I need to do to convince _you_?"

Wade's hand twitched slightly, but he was looking at Peter so fixated he didn't seem to notice. Peter stared back, waiting patiently. Wade was warring with himself, looking stuck between his bitter feelings for Francis and Peter's hand, still lying calmly on the armrest.

Then, ever so slowly, his fists uncurled and one of his hands tentatively hovered over Peter's. He looked nervous, shuffling in his seat a little with his eyebrows furrowed. He looked ready to bolt any second, so Peter did his best to ease him. He sent out calming scents, hoping it'd soothe Wade and reassure him that he wasn't alone.

Then, as Wade inhaled deeply, he slowly dropped his hand on top of Peter's and flinched when he touched skin.

For a second, when Wade grimaced, Peter thought he had somehow hurt him, and debated pulling his hand away, but didn't get the chance when Wade suddenly squeezed his fingers, as if looking for affirmation. Desperately making sure what he was feeling was solid and present.

"You're…really here?" He asked, sounding small. You're not going to disappear?"

Peter smiled back, turning his hand over to lock their hands together, giving it a gentle squeeze, "I'm really here, and I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

After that, Wade couldn't seem to let go.

He held Peter's hand as if it were a grounding rod and he were a bolt of lightning. Peter figured Wade didn't want to lose the sense that Peter was there, and he didn't fight it when Wade kept their hands intertwined. To be honest, he was enjoying the close contact himself.

In the circumstances that Peter _did_ need to let go, like, say, going to the bathroom, Wade was by his side within an instant, slipping his hand into Peter's as if afraid their time apart had somehow deteriorated one of them into a figment of imagination.

When they weren't holding hands, Wade would grab the hem of his shirt, or the end of his sleeve, and just rub the fabric between his fingers, never letting up on his constant stream of chatter and banter.

Nothing about his behavior felt possessive, Peter found. It just felt...intimate. But a kind of intimacy that didn't scare Peter like he was a rabbit in a snare. It was a nice feeling of closeness that could've only been created through their time at Weapon X. Like they had a level of understanding that not many people did.

Wade wasn't in a straitjacket now, which meant his arms were free to roam.

He still asked before he touch, which Peter would be relieving. Always whispering a question of consent, that, if Peter nodded to, he would use as permission to hold hands again. Peter, in return, did the same.

Wade had seemed surprised that Peter would even ask, no matter how many times he presented with the question.

Eventually, after finishing up on the pancakes – Peter who ate too much and nearly puked, as Wade warned him about – and cleaning up the apartment so it was more liveable, the two found themselves on the couch.

"We still need to come up with a plan of action," Peter reminded them both as he found his corner in the couch.

"Spidey-Petey, you're still getting over that weird heat thing," Wade said, fiddling with the TV.

Which was true enough. His body had calmed considerably, with only the occasion flush to his skin or jerk in his gut to remind him of the state he'd been in. He wasn't feeling as sensitive anymore, although his scent glands still tingled.

"For every minute we sit here, that's another minute that people are getting tortured by Weapon X."

"And if we go rushing back in there without R&R, we're going to end up right back where we started. I mean, how do you think they managed to get my gnarled ass there in the first place? And being the golden-hero-guy you are, Francis is probably expecting you to come after them guns ablazin'. Trust me, they won't be expecting you to take a day for yourself. _Not_ to mention the fact that you just got over whatever that weird heat was, so you're probably not at full Spidey kickassery yet."

Peter hummed, eyebrows narrowing. Still, he couldn't hold back the tiny smile as he regarded Wade more thoroughly, "Alright," he said, "Points taken. But I see one flaw in your argument."

"And what would that be?"

"Well, less of a flaw in your argument against me and more like particular details, so don't get on my case when it doesn't pertain to my plan of hunting those bastards down."

"Fine, I won't. Just spit it out already."

"That's what he said."

Wade's laugh was a mixture of amusement and incredibility, "C'mon, Spidey-Pete, the tension is killing me."

Peter tucked his legs under him and grabbed the blanket he snagged from Wade's room, " _You_ told me that Weapon X kept chasing after you, and _that's_ why they got you. Not because you went after them yourself."

"Ah...," Wade said, moving his attention to the TV, that was flashing static, as he searched for the remote. "Well…that's, uh…thing is...uh…alright, fine, you got me."

Peter tilted his head at him, "Sooooo, if you knew Weapon X was going after you, why did you turn around and go after them?"

Wade huffed, "Well, that's a hypocritical question. Isn't that exactly what you want to do, smartypants?"

"Yeah," Peter shrugged, "But I want to know why _you_ did."

"Uh, because they're a super sadistic and evil group of motherfuckers who _torture_ people, and rape and kidnap, and made me look like the worst version of moldy, melted cheese this side of the Atlantic? Isn't that reason enough."

Peter looked at Wade more critical. The mercenary seemed to be purposely avoiding eye-contact now and had already looked under that cushion 3 times already. But Peter wouldn't push. His curiosity may creep about and try and pick at every little thing people did, but he could figure out when his questions were bordering on invasive.

"Alright," he said after a moment, letting the subject drop effectively.

Wade found the remote a moment later and clicked it onto a channel that was featuring an old, cheesy black and white film. He collapsed on the opposite end of the couch, clicking the buttons rapidly.

"Whatcha wanna watch?"

Peter shrugged, "I don't watch movies a lot, so anything new that's _good_."

"Ha! I think you're putting your expectations on Hollywood too high," Wade snorted, but settled on a movie already halfway through. It looked like some kind of espionage type that Peter liked to make fun of.

"And why don't you watch movies?" Wade continued, dropping the remote in his lap, "Doesn't Stark have, like, every channel and movie service in existence?"

It was Peter's turn to snort, "Yeah, probably. I mean, I wouldn't know. It's not like I live with him or anything."

He saw Wade look at him through the corner of his eye, "Don't you?" He asked, voice high in confusion.

Peter pointed crudely at himself, "Not an Avenger. Which means I don't get all the cool Avenger discounts and streaming services. I'm more of a poor, battered cat that crosses their path every once in a while."

"But I thought you and Iron-Guy were like," he intertwined his fingers, "a thing or something. Best friends, at least. Your sugar daddy? Oh my gosh, is he the Batman to your Robin?"

"Tony _is_ a friend," Peter admitted, "and he's offered to lend me cash on _several_ occasions, but that's about it."

"And here I thought you were tight with the Avengers," Wade pouted, "Now how will I exploit your social status to my gain?"

"You could always try smoozing up to Steve. He loves picking up strays."

"Is that all I am to you?" Wade cried mawkishly, "A stray?"

"Am I wrong?"

Wade shrugged, scratching his chin, "Eh, not really."

There wasn't much to be said on the topic and they fell into silence as they watched the movie. Peter was in the middle of making wry comments in his head, schooling himself so he didn't say them out loud, when Wade shuffled in his seat and Peter could smell a new scent coming off him.

Something nervous…maybe even a little embarrassed.

"I did go after Weapon X," Wade spoke up quietly after another moment of fidgeting. "I was…inspired, I guess, to do something about them. I mean, they already screwed me over and I figured they were probably screwing over a _lot_ of other people. But…but I didn't do anything about it for a while…I was…anxious about going back there. I didn't have very good memories of the place and…and I thought that if I killed them all, there would be no way to fix my," he gestured to his face, "you know, ' _condition'_."

Peter stared silently, afraid to breathe too loudly in the case it'd make Wade clamp up again.

After a moment he tentatively asked, "What inspired you to go after them?"

Wade's laugh was sharp and derisive, and Peter was under the impression that he was laughing at himself. "Oh, you know, I was visiting New York on a fine smoggy day and some guy tried robbing the pizza place I was chowing in – typical New York day, amirite? I was gonna pop a few bullets in him, just to make him shut up when this strange red and blue superhero busted down the door."

Peter stiffened.

"Didn't know how he even knew the robbery was going on, but he was there like – like a something, I don't know. He took out the guard lickety-split and was prepping to go back out again. He looked like he was in a hurry. When the restaurant clerk tried to thank him, he'd said something like, 'yeah, yeah, with great power comes a great responsibility to all pizza places and hotdog stands.' And I was like, _what the fuck?_ That's, like, the most inspiring thing _ever_."

Peter, on the other hand, did _not_ think that was the greatest thing _at all_ and blushed a deep crimson red. He could only faintly remember the day Wade was recounting. He had a lot of days of rushing about and stopping frantically to put out small crimes and they usually ended up blending together. The pizza place memory only really stuck out because Peter had missed breakfast _and_ lunch and that pizza had smelled _heavenly._

"But it was later at my apartment, you know, after I jerked off, cleaned my guns, got in my nightcap and prepared to hit the sack, when I couldn't stop thinking about what that hero said. _With great power comes a great responsibility to all pizza places and hotdog stands."_ He savored the sentence, smile large and amused, 'With _great power_ comes a great responsibility to _pizza places_ and _hotdog stands."_

"Yeah, got it," Peter mumbled.

"With GREAT POWER comes a great RESPONSIBILITY to PIZZA and HOTDOGS."

" _Thanks,_ Wade," Peter huffed, "I get it."

"Yeah, it's fucking ridiculous," Wade laughed, "I thought you were high or something, I'll be honest," Peter made an indignant noise in the back of his throat, "but I thought it over and…and it was actually super inspiring. I mean, you went out of your way to stop a petty pizza robbery. You looked busy and you still stopped to help, whether or not it made you late for your date – or whatever you were doing. And I was like, _'fuck, if he does that for_ every _pizza place and hotdog stand, the guys probably fucking exhausted."_

Peter rolled his eyes but nodded softly to himself. To be fair, he _had_ been fucking exhausted.

"And it got me thinking, if I hadn't been there and you hadn't been there, nobody would've been there to stop the robber-guy. And I thought about how Weapon X was just like that, only nobody is willing to step in. I was like you, in a sense. I saw what was happening, but the only difference is I didn't do anything about it." Wade was looking almost bashful now, the scar tissue on his face tinting a shade of pink, "And I thought, maybe if Spider-Man can go out of his way to save something as small as a pizza place, then maybe I could go out of my way to do the same about Weapon X. They ain't no pizza place, but they do cook up a lot of weird shit."

"Soooo…I, uh, packed up my gear, cashed in a few favors, and started tracking the bastards down. I mean, I wasn't really doing anything _anyway_ , so whatevs. Might as well take down a super evil organization while I had some free time on my hands. Only, Francis-the-douche saw me coming from a mile away and I only got one of their off-branch facilities when they caught me, and…and yeah," Wade rubbed the palms of his hands nervously on his pants. "That's how they got me again. Thought I could be a hero and," he blew a raspberry and made an explosion with his hands.

Peter's heart ached. Of all the places Wade could've took inspiration, it had been _him_ who started it. _He_ had been the one to inspire Wade to go after Weapon X and that had ended with him in a cell for, what was likely, months. Maybe even a year. Imprisoned and experimented on because he figured that he had the power to stop Weapon X, thus it was his responsibility.

And it had blown up in his face.

How was Peter supposed to respond to _that_?

The sound of filtered gunfire filled the empty space between them. Wade was staring down at his pants, still looking sheepish and embarrassed of his story. As if the very idea that he had tried to do the right thing, and failing at it, was humiliating.

"For what it's worth," Peter said, once he scrounged up the nerve to speak again, "I think that red and blue hero would be proud of what you did, and he wishes he'd have been there to help."

Wade glanced at him briefly, asking sheepishly, "You…think so?"

Peter nodded, "I do. He'd liked to help you catch those bastards if you were willing to try again. And this time, he'll make sure they won't hurt you."

A new smell drifted between them. This one was a happy scent. A comforted scent. Wade was smiling to himself. Just a small smile, but it matched the hopeful twinkle in his eyes.

Seeing the relief sag Wade's shoulders, Peter couldn't help but grin too.

It felt good to comfort Wade. It felt…nice, having someone he could protect and keep safe. Someone who didn't outright deny his help.

"Well, I wouldn't mind having the heroes back too," Wade said, "If he really wanted to have a super, epic, team-up against the forces of evil."

Peter hummed, "He does. He has rules though, but he wouldn't mind discussing those later. After the movie and maybe with some pizza."

"There's a pizza place not far from here," Wade said, "Or a hotdog stand if the hero prefers."

That made Peter snort and bury his face in the armrest of the chair, "Will you ever let that go?"

"Nope," Wade grinned, "That's my new life motto."

"It was a rough day! I didn't know what I was saying?"

"Do you think William Shakespeare knew what the fuck he was saying all the time? That was _poetry_ , Petey, and so eloquently delivered. I could really hear the lower-classmen in you, and it gave it that realistic _oomph_! You know what I mean?"

"I was a tired, cranky old man with no money for pizza," Peter cried, "You can't blame me for grumpiness on an empty stomach!"

"I can and I will, but to keep our new partnership intact, I will smooth the waters with as much pizza as you can eat. Deal?" Wade stuck out his hand.

Peter regarded it with his nose up, only pretending to think about it. If pizza was involved, he knew he was already sold, but he couldn't let Wade know that. After a second of pretend-pondering, he shook Wade's hand. "Deal."

Their hands stayed clasped well over the time necessary to seal the deal, and neither made a move to break it. Peter's heart was pounding in his chest as sudden nerves gnawed at his stomach.

"Does…this partnership include cuddles?" he asked, slowly.

Wade's eyes softened into something almost yearning. "Yeah," he said, "I think that might work out."

"I think I better test it though. To make sure it's as good as I'm led to believe."

"By all means, Mr. Peter-Spider Parker-Man, but I call the little spoon."

Peter smiled, "I'll be the big spoon."

They moved. Peter shifted around so Wade could squeeze in next to him and they lay against each other, feet entangled at the end of the couch. With Wade's head tucked under his chin, Peter returned his eyes to the tv, but his attention couldn't be drawn from the close press of Wade's body, the soothing scent encasing them both, and the carnivorous butterflies suddenly flying in the bowels of his stomach.

There was a mountain of things he needed to do. He's been gone for _months_. He needed to call Aunt May to let her know he was okay. Call MJ and Harry so they know he wasn't mugged and left for dead in the river. He _definitely_ needed to get a hold of Tony before the man started tearing up the criminal underworld to find him, with the rest of the Avengers on his tail. Not to mention they needed to talk about whatever _this_ was between them. Peter didn't know if he was ready for a relationship if that was a place Wade might want to go.

But for now, he let himself sink into the warmth of Wade's body.

Weapon X was going to be a nightmare to snuff out, and Peter still figured they should call in the Avengers for backup. But they could talk about it later. They both just escaped Weapon X, they deserved a little break.

Peter sighed, closing his eyes, and let his worries drip away. Wade had that effect on him.

He made an affectionate, amused noise. "You really are a calming goat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! I originally was gonna try and fit some smut in there, but with where Peter was at and what he was going through, and the fact that he and Wade needed to discuss things, it didn't feel right to include it. It'd feel sloppy and unrealistic.
> 
> Maybe I'll come back one of these days with a smut chapter for you all, but in this case, the story is officially over. Just know that they do go back and fight Weapon X, and Peter even talks Wade into working with the Avengers so they can really wipe Weapon X out. Afterward, the Avengers do have a bit of a problem with Wade, but Peter stands up for him, and they go about their own business. Tony understands that Peter is a grown adult and he can make his own choices, and he doesn't try and micromanage his life. That being said, he still watches Peter back because he doesn't trust Wade completely yet.
> 
> After some time patrolling and teaming up they officially start dating, and sometime after that they move in together. Of course Wade meets MJ and Harry, both of whom are protective of Peter, but they like Wade too. Wade introduces Peter to Cable and Weasel, both of who say they hate Wade, but they didn't hesitate to threaten Peter with great violence if he hurt Wade.
> 
> Peter and Wade fight society on a personal level and break as many stigmas as possible because "HA! Take that society!"
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys liked the fic! Thank you so much for the comments and kudos! Literally, it spurred every word! If you like how I write Spideypool, feel free to check out my other fics
> 
> Byyyyyye!


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